There is nothing else to do here
but continue to go round in circles
under slowly spreading depths.
The last exciting deceits have just mixed
with the mesh of lies,
dark as the perception of
poor soils sparing of other promises.
The scent of the flesh bring me back
to cut off ambitions and a dull brightness,
silent reproach to my worn-out chains.
My words recover their dash in
the doughiness of discovered longest nights,
scattered as unattended colours.
but continue to go round in circles
under slowly spreading depths.
The last exciting deceits have just mixed
with the mesh of lies,
dark as the perception of
poor soils sparing of other promises.
The scent of the flesh bring me back
to cut off ambitions and a dull brightness,
silent reproach to my worn-out chains.
My words recover their dash in
the doughiness of discovered longest nights,
scattered as unattended colours.