Asyliated refugees, now at home?

Pain becomes our newest alarm wake-up,
our hunger is a clock,
and silence, endless silence,
massive like a world-sized moon,
is our paradise,
our blessing in our ghetto,
our deaths are warmth in the senseless eternity,

we have compressed the very first times of our immortalities
in just a sketched blurried sevendom

none are marble
nor walking furs
to make the pampered girls swoon and dream
(Oh Edmond, oh Joshua, they would sigh)

Enthroned in the universe´s junkyard,
the life´s junkyard,
prosecutees of those Godly Ones,
Flawless Ones,
Out of sight, out of time, out of life,
we once remembered,
perhaps,
we once lived, we once
felt fire under our skinhairs,
cheeks shifting and changing with the magic of seasons and seas
eyes eating the world
minds uncorrupted by gurus and soutanes and authorities 
dreams buzzing and thundering
beneath ribs and williful digits
perhaps we did,

perhaps eternity has chewed and digested and
left our memories to fertilize the spittons of the sky

left us pariahed
below the optimistic salves and hails
of the neverending New Age ruminating man-gerbils
 
left us discarded
as uncertain
as a word first invented.