Labyrinth

The will awaits unceasingly

a desire not to be found.

The switchblade catch sets off the void

of skirtchasing.

Some scar unto the night

profanes reflection.

Only incredulous detachment

and nothing else.

I have to suffer

because I know indifference.

Banalities set sail unceasingly

upon each other.

Horizons draw the eyes

of our sentiments.

Francis Picabia