lands

Featherless creatures draw maps on brick walls,
maps of god knows what lands. Look at the children:
they play with dying flies, they devour the Sun. Meanwhile,
garlic and apples from faraway countries graciously rot;
water is ever beyond decay. Courtyards
are full of yesteryear’s leaves and songs,
barely audible, quietly crumbling.
There have been no events after your birth.
Only visions, headaches and invoices.

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