You know I can’t describe
This place from memory or from walks.
I can’t return.
They told me every way is blocked.
But I was born here too,
in this small house that now is dust
under your furniture.

All in time. Just be patient.
There’s no word for all this handed up to us,
forehead first, wrapped in shirts, black with earth.

So, I don’t care what you do.
Use every means to break my will.
Shoot through my skin,
until there’s nothin’ left to kill.
Fly down my throat,
and push upon me with great force.
I’ll swallow all of it.

All inside. Close my mouth up.
There’s no word for all this handed up to us,
forehead first, wrapped in shirts, black with earth.

So don’t call me out
onto the beach, into the night
to search the camp
and tear up everything in sight.
Don’t touch my diary.
Ten million pages will I write upon this body.

All this time will soon explode,
for there’s no room, with all this handed up to us,
forehead first, wrapped in shirts, black with earth.