IV / Manón Kübler


i suppose today’s risky ascent through the inveterate walls of euphoria will soon lead me to an indescribable abyss. let’s say this is of no importance to the degree that you and i might be able to waste the creature of lack, as would be done in the best german poetry, where indolence ends up being a form of doubt and tragedy for the most immune of men. i lament being so distressingly moral and expecting that i must say so much to you in order to touch just one of your breasts.

{ Manón Kübler, Olympia, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1992 }

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