What little peace lurks in every habit
there is compelled to free grammars and smile
we engage every day with simple devotion
moving shelves desks chairs cutlery jewelry
as if to say that the pain is consistent hypothesis
never certain until the bottom of the roads traversed the dark
never satisfied modest love for things and poses.
We fell in love with Death between tears and sweat
we picked up on stumps lit wounds never healed
what we feel we understand very well well
we know that we have to be there and stubbornly believe
without ever yielding to the gnarled wind moaning language
without ever hoping that the end of the day to a head node ports.
The universe spring cleaning you do in a day
perhaps taking advantage of the vacuum of an afternoon without sleep
without losing control while knowing to pay all
no escape as a melancholy goodbye to orange blossom.
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