If simply all the fear could materialize in a landscape, I’d just harden even more my pace and my sight to its coarse texture,

any drop of blood

would fall,


as my hands –croaking helpless words- grab the rest of the decaying tissues beneath the layers, colored by dirty drizzles, now outer to any shade of the mind.

That could be simple

Even more complex

the tied knot

such a spider was engulfing me, in silence,

while I was mesmerized by the chants, the chore


the oblivion came

the spot which I groped for

where my persona

-nevertheless the time-

had kept, without object and absurdly,

the last straw of memory.

Beyond complexity, without reaching simplicity,

the future awaits,

as the synchrony of a smoking head.

Nothing but a pendulum,

a still sad pendulum

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