A woman with dice in
her mouth and lizards all
over her body roams the
streets of the city of Kronos
and Rhea. I’d rather not hear her
singing, not know about her
headaches, the beauty of them.
The ears of coyotes
and foxes are nothing
but parentheses

made of a malleable
kind of air. The smell of tobacco
follows exhausted and scared
pelicans to the end of
the hoary ocean.
Indigenous people here,
they only avoid dancing,
stomping on caterpillars,
wiping out the planets,
breathing. All the
garage doors are open
revealing forgotten

ancient happiness maybe.
Maybe cooks and
tailors can sell their
insomnia on the side
to belligerent stones.


2 thoughts on “stones

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