Of lightness. Of the beauty. dazzling. in chain In its outbreak. Days done. Until the depopulated links arrived. Disappointed shadows. They come back they come back every night. They always take root. While the branches arrive. They are your yolk arms. They are your fingers of darkness always. They know how to count hands. Fingers fall from touching you. They panic. Our damage. Every day chore. He teeters between doubts and hurt. Between knowing or not knowing if the pain can be so immense.
Write en miroir. Palimpseste sur painting. Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.