Guilty of surrendering to the bite of time

 You don't understand the middle of the afternoon, you don't come back, you appeared, this aquatic resonance of the air that precedes you causes their death when they find the paths, prehensile like purgatory, reduced to the same thing, reduced to a simple planetary paper, guilty of giving us certain data to the bite of time, unless it is symbolic denies it to function then with unstable substitutions whose turbulences leave gaps without support, deconstructed