Madness is tragedy deprived of time
A street
yesterday the street I live in became new to me I saw blushing windows in its bend and wound-up cars following the curvature the signs on the rooftops read names I had not noticed before behind a rusty gate the glimpse of an overgrown trellis the scent of blossom rushing in from another season in ...
I love my best of you shine me through the vestiges of your spring make me, who has the wind still in his wrinkles, sing of how we love the silk softness of our whiten hair, chance with me the rite of our fingers through it, entomb us in that raging, mad, that sacred dance
We work at night
The air is standing tired a strong white light pierces it, but never encounters anything such is the space we are in Time is an old friend at the door who must wait until we fix what we will be broken to-night because of that light hitting us But the hours didn't count the hours ...