***
All is joy as in an ancient pocket
all is image of slavery, of corruption
of long legs descending from my star
I weave, I scheme, I weave and reweave
the existence I search for what follows me
and hides from my Ego under the level
of the soul beyond the smoke of the black
holes ‒ I see the nanny goat virgin
going up to the crater of the volcano
that exhales fateful crude oil, the nanny goat
grasping some of the gorse with her mouth
and advancing audaciously ‒ thus is the death.
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