Commodity

With hands thirsty for smiles and kisses thirsty for bread thirsty for the calm of faith we set up the wall of the temple. The market of idols grew brisk colored idols stone idols. The market, like a monster, grew and spread became a flood and carried with it the thirst, the bond. Under the low roof without a window everything became "self"-less everything became "commodity" the commodity of discovering the secret of the nucleus the commodity of Hafez the commodity of the bed the commodity of the kiss. The market of colored commodities filled the dry breasts of mothers with injected faith false faith. The newborns drank subtraction from the breasts of weary mothers but division and addition and multiplication were forgotten the small, innocent, half-fed newborns saw the commodity of the temple as God and took the counters of the stalls for altars that endure forever. The newborns, with us, like spinning tops - hasty and swift - in the ceaseless circulation of commodities spin without pause we spin without pause... The corridors are cold the walls are cold we spin fast no warmth shines on us from any idol from any corridor from any commodity. No warmth shines on us we spin fast with frozen hands and feet faster and faster, faster still and the rope a rope - hidden and visible - around our necks grows tighter with this hard, mad spinning. Strangers facing us in the mirror weep with pain...