What makes the heat drag and pump?
No, what makes the pulse pulsate, and drag?
How about the brain, what makes it stop?
It’s the shadow, your shadow, it’s dying!
For when you die, the friction of the shadow
remains,
Yet it is drained, little by little, more and
more,
Until there is no more: a kind of standstill
takes place:
The body thus, being an empty shell, yet it
remains
For a time being, it remains: it is all very
elusive,
All very strange, but it nonetheless,
remains!
The shape and nature of the shadow…vague!
They rest lightly clad at one’s feet—
Like a figure in an open window, awaiting a
feast!
Like a dog waiting for his master down the
street;
But when they’re dying, when the shadow is
dying
Little by little, more and more, until there
is no more—
They drag, and drag until their gone…!
#3468 (11-19-2012)
