and candor was not lust, or water clarity, there was not a single tree, the giraffes were gone, no one could hear the sound of the sails, had glaciers brown boxes without dreams, hotels empty bazaars as tombs, there were no words, only monologues, a bleak wind, not a single boat, not a single riot, exhausted gardens, islands in the shadows, ponds hungry, my mother could not hear, the songs of my mother, a terrible silence, a silence of termites, no pencils, no books, no birds, no violins, just a black fire, juice of slag, hollow domes, shirts piled dust in the temples, tapestries burned, a dog sleepwalker, debris, flies, ossuaries, covers ... and the moon reflected in a TV on. In the report, in a monotone, talking about the end of the world.
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