In the valley of blasts
a row of jacarandas...

Burnt-out myths in the old city
are stitching the lips of people...

It is,
what do you not say...

Carrying my words in a small jewel box
I was listening to silence...

Born out of hate
condemned to fear from each other...

Have-beens went into fury.
Like silkworms, after the shock...

Famelocked,
sometimes he was talking to flowers...

A quest for celestial insanity
brings some comfort...

There were subtle declines,
still I opted for incompleteness...

Give me a piece of your body
before you go...

On the hay stack lies my body
brought from the shooting range...

Walked into the sun,
He. With weak flesh...