We fall down stairs looking for pharmacies grass doesn't grow on our knees we're running again on a blade of snow intertwining hands and feet in search of bread
Black armies in the line of light Ant hordes in the poet's pupils dried butterflies boys girls dressed in fishnet stockings
fake crystal of her skull on the branches of a huge tree the real pain of the Wild North rustling echoes of a deserted shore
Snakes playfully with each other play in the air smile their teeth will dissolve like sugar when they bite gently.