the sky shines like the apocalypse,
or the colour of your eyes on a rainy day.
little clouds find shelter in the crevices of the sky.
music is dried out and absorbed
by the crackle of the leaves and brown summer grass,
drowning in angels tears.
the slaves of the city remain safe,
in their brick sanctuaries of hearth and heart.
stone begins to blow north,
though your good morning goodnights remain at my side.
drops of heaven caress my face,
as the days anarchy remains.















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