niedziela, 27 lipca 2014



“The soul is the effect and instrument of a political anatomy; the soul is the prison of the body
― Michel Foucault

Oh boy
I do what I can
I do because I can
Chiaroscuro of life
But we remain
Always half way
Like Heraclitus commanded
Be master or barbarian
Be or not be at once
Make choices
While no choice is granted
No black or white
Greyish is grey substance
That pushes light impulses
Thru dark corridors
Let your body stride
Free of illusion
Can I?
I’m allowed but not able
I’m able but not allowed

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