stars

Snakes try to take the distance between a rodent and a cloud
With their own bodies, but clouds don’t belong to this landscape.
Blueberries and blackberries delivered from remote villages
With insects swarming in their midst, you should taste them.
Each silence you hear is lost in history.
Musicians grow old, wear armor, throw sounds out of
Their impersonal dross. They begin to swear like medieval cobblers.
Wine gleams in the dark with filthy stars.

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