Katalin Pusztaszeri

The channels of good old sense has been clogged up by mind-dust... so as my clairvoyance
I have been waiting for damnation for awhile
I am dancing barefoot on sad blue crystalline slivers wrenched out from my iris... brittle crushed ice-flowered windows in heaven
My eyesight is an endless chaotic spider-web in crimson, but I still own a vision!
I am a fakir, I don't have fantasies,
I don't dream about soft fairy angel wings anymore,
The sharp edges of borders have been slipping on each other for a long time.