Written by Ivan Pozzoni
Death has your coloured summer eyes
she dances with the hanged man, endorses decapitated heads,
it tells suicide its winter stories,
that a suicide’s tear can extinguish hell.
Death picks flowers from worn bones
on leaking brains and holey eye sockets,
weeps water lily flowers in the stomach of the drowned,
she, slut, fragile, farewell to celibacy.
Death marries the burnt corpse,
remains the only force outside the logic of the market,
embraces the hyper-capitalist, the anarchist, the indifferent,
without ever realising that it serves no purpose.
We cry out for life, we abolish death,
they tried it in numbers with the support of art,
distracted by rich tributes and cotillions,
we abolish death and sing Villon.
Text © Ivan Pozzoni
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worded nicely
Villon: writing verse, dodging the law, and probably borrowing money he never intended to repay (a true Renaissance multitasker.) 😉🤘😁