It always starts like that
Fields of death…
Landscape of some nuclear war 

In the coldness of spring
With my 11 fingers

I tough you know
My deeds
That I’m not cold
Not even hot
Harsh voice was calling me
By name
You said that the houses are made of paper
And they are reversed
And why did you lean your head

Once I compose
A mosaic of chaos
Luis was tying
An axe for a bed, then
And he loved spiders

I ‘m sending a letter to my dead friend
In the country of ruptured smiles
I Drop the Holy Grail to eyes of
The world