***
Let’s go beyond the shooting stars,
her laments whip my nerves, my thoughts
the slain were all shining in a fluid death
that was cooling their spine. How silently
the times are changing. The night is endlessly
falling. It’s not about despondency, nor at least
about the expectation. Nothing. A frozen motion
is spreading to yesterday and to tomorrow.
The crime is twinkling in the mud of the day.
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