And it's not summer, and is not hell,
when midnight arrives.
Sterile and full of songs,
is not the beginning of death.
only glances of laughter cobalt
mornings only in reverse.
Myths and legends ever told.
worn costumes too.
flavors and dishes left to rot.
It is the story beyond the border.
stray stars contained in clusters.
With trembling walls, damp plants.
trains growl off and minds. You
peaceful glory and age.
You soft as my bed shook.
morbid and broken You like my breasts.
rhymes and full of dreams and memory.
To silence my throat.
With whispers ruthless as cleavers.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
Why not know where to go.
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