Portrait of the Young Girl as an Artist

Not all limbs have erections
Sometimes even you have to decide
Which is up and which is down
Which travels and which is stationary
Which travels to stations and which travels aimlessly
And whether desire can perhaps best be described
As a train running into a tunnel
Take your platform hands and run, I said
Between train track: thighs
Not all limbs have erections
Sometimes even you have to decide
Which is up and which is down
Which travels and which is stationary
Which travels to stations and which travels aimlessly
And whether desire can perhaps best be described
As a train running into a tunnel
Take your platform hands and run, I said
Isn’t monotonous? Isn’t it monochromous?
But there’s a light! Do you see it?
It shines from the hole through your hand
And how did I get here? To the hand!
I say: the body is one-way street
And the bodies, like your fingers, bend only inwards
Not all limbs have erections
Some curl inwards
And some have braces!
Those train track braces!
Embraces!