I will run till the world turns against me.
My feet are melting.
Tears of wax will scorch my face hair.
As long as my expression and its features slam to the ground.

This Me will run across a soil of history, which should be mine.
A face that cries behind a mirror-pane.
Till the sound of crashing fragments introduces silence.

I run, trying to escape – I fall, trying to seep away – I pull myself up, trying to overshoot the mark

(Try to overshoot the mark - I will overshoot the mark)

It’s me who runs against this wall of sounds.
My feet are wounded.
Waxen tears will fix hundreds of fragmentary face-particles to a new whole.

I run, trying to escape – I fall, trying to seep away – I pull myself up, trying to overshoot the mark

(Try to overshoot the mark - I will overshoot the mark)

©Isa Wiss_April 23_2003