It seems that you change your mind overnight, as if out of madness and, instead, in the night it is another self that speaks and gives advice. As if by strange magnetism, then, I know I have found my reasons. Without thinking too much. Without many words. For enlightenment that seems madness but is a form of consciousness that irrevocably whispers, without accepting others no. So I make my own decisions. The night. It seems strange that these seize me at night without me doing anything, nor asking for them. Indeed, just when I stop the tortuous thinking, my unexpected truths capture me with an unusual certainty that I would not have known how to have at other times of the day. And it is precisely this being unexpected that makes them certain. Because they catch me defenseless and I can only give up.


Flowers of the sun bloom,
The beat of the earth rises from the evening breath,
It descends into the belly,
It goes even lower,
A feathered snake
Leave its nest
To get to the best prey.
Twist guts and flowers,
Intertwine strange things and loves,
Infiltrate signs and insects,
Inside paintings and corsets.
End of myself, 
another begins.
Shake planets, 
shake secrets, 
Bells, engine sounds.

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