Broken lights cry pale
and melt away, before faded dawnings,
ready to drop with sleep
and still chanting loud. Of man
of seed, of god and death.

Get lost
the shades, nervous,
they get stained
and seem surrendered;
they tremble with vigil
as absorbed souls,
welcomed acquitted souls.

To comply with life: must be done
heedlessly, superficially.

I feel ants inside my skin,
upon eyes’ edges
vibrations catalyzed by deep places.
Space and room glued on,
precisely adhesive.

It’s the outline of a circle,
that someday breaks.

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