Rptl
the lizard hears the muffled sound of the locusts coming,
his drool drips from his mouth and wets the floor,
everything is germ or germination.
the strong and indifferent sun burns the yellow spikes.
how many times do i need to say it will hurt?
that this path has so many and such holes?
if I suffered all this.
if I fell on everyone.
the living brown cloud swallows field and lizard.
this life is a barren arid moon,
sun and furrowed soil nothing more.
under the earth the heat strangles the seeds.
I look at you like I always did before,
what kind of victory has this demented pride built?
after all who loved who?
heat of the burning harvest,
the dry carcass of violated tenderness,
charred remains of what looked good.
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