Even the angel who is like a slab of meat, hovering up there is a suicide

You can't live among a sickness

Everyone looks unhappy. Even the beginning there with the seeds of flickering dream

The mouth and all other things share within? in the planting in the knowledge of the earth or above on green fields?

Here, every vine and root demands blood

I construct arcadias to forget my ache, I decorate the light having so little of it