If I hear, it is the voices of the shadows past now. A brake that spot cancer gets to the heart – as the night that is driven by a lilting rhythm that does not hear and does not have voice – now.
These are the machines that run and feet of a cat on trash cans and smoke coming out from lips. Feel?
Love like a cold knife slaughtering the rubble of emotions yesterday, I feel.
Yet I feel I’m not feeling -the moment when the gaze of the moon is deformed under the infinite sky viewer. The feeling?
Listening to the time that separates me
What I separate
From little things, and I see them stretch and shake crumpled to where the religion of those who have religion does not arrive, still listening
the future unlistenable
acceptable – and I am always with you.
Do you listen to them …?