Glue the words, on nothingness,like a black board, made off night, the scolar void,,don't change your mind, the Hans fingers! dislocate the sound of bodies mechanics,burn, burn, burn, I don't feel anything anyway,the knife house, you talk in circle,you taste like all those girls, the leather boots astride inert bodies,your voice: far; I don't comprehend the wind's words, the hand remove the hair, fake, color of the deserted sun, cataclysmal body language, the planets; a inverted rotation, but still; I am standing here, without consequence, without substance, nothing, the desert is our son throwing up on the Styx,too much wine, black, am looking for you, silence, green symbol and then nothing, hanging finger, on a already closed mouth, nothing, just you.
Painting: Nicola Samori
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