And death shall
not walk in the street,
on the shoulders
of dead dreams.

It was not a
mythical slip, when visuals
had no mirrors, no ink.
When I go into rage
flames will rise from the sea.

You will not count
the burning rings. History
repeats the rule of blood.
Skin alters the frontiers.

The insane love
demands your toes, so
you would not walk away
from the periphery of blue hills.

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