***
The cold rejoices at humans
fresh sun whose wool I am ‒
no one sinks his foot into the spring
the night enters into the fissures
of the city inventing her own
peregrine street, the moon of that
night succumbed to my lethargy
I enter into no one’s night I’ll lie down
to die; no one gets lost in the slumber
this epidemic of fire is poultice
of the humiliation.
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