we play the games of a torch
the living legend,
great beauty of dirty thoughts.
A twin drama unfolds
the icon burns
and a wealth of praise drowns the priest.
Now death dance begins.
Neither immersion nor the float
ends the relationship.
Hunger leaps to death from the top floor.
Life is ripped apart.
The swarm of vultures descends,
mating of news begins.
The anodyne is spread on the wounds.
Room to room, the liquidation begins;
of faces, of spots.
A cruel joke is repeated every day relentlessly,
I wait for the transformation of beginning,
of the ending.
The light to fade and god to taste like a hot bun.
The dangling doors must close,
for a while to motivate the dreams.