THE FEAR

 

The fear of you being what you are

is made up of innumerable fears

that make you run like a bat out of hell

out of this crooked world leaving

the mishap up to the fire. You see

without any hesitation how a fear

and another one grab you by the throat

by the testicles, heat up your innards

and you invoke the mercy from barren

regions, inhaling the stench of the lives

that break off. Towards evening you’ll

go away you’ll weep with the fears

convoy after you with bleatings of sheep

that annoy: the fear of not losing

your job, your money, your food

your prestige, the fear of pain and

of illness the fear that you won’t be loved

that you’ll lose your children, the fear

of you living in a world that is similar to death

the fear of dying and other innumerable

fears stir up the dust with their steps

and you run away but you still want gold

you want to make gold.