Step by step, from trip to trip, in a circus circle that the sand insulates the rumor raises the curtains of the show. colorful entrance, noisy barnum, raised dust of the animal procession, passions of the soul raised to the pinnacles of the temples to dismantle, to make sense and transform. Of blood and colors, the furious cries of the Erinyes have destroyed the landscapes of childhood, the clay lips of springs have made way with cement nozzles, the stone of the protections has been torn out, the hedges have been cut down, filled ditches, the silver fox will no longer find the center, an evil wind blows the lumps of earth towards the dry stone terraces, an old ash tree whispers its last dispositions. The night coos, soul pigeons overhanging breaches of the human condition, populist lies replace the song of the poets, the tracks of war engines follow the iron shoes of the hairy, the sky is darkening, even the trees sculpted by the west wind lay down in the storm. The air is foul, on the wailing wall life papers crumpled and forced at the joints of the stones covered in lichens become panting flesh of a random tzimtzum. emaciated hands, out of the pockets to match scratch oblivion, rolling eyes clip the values of the spirit, a sour cream clown smile makeup our last wanderings. The fury takes over at night, in silence, made ugly by the passes of arms fights and hatreds, dappled by lifting new harvests, become a willing accomplice of a shoddy renaissance. There is officinal herbs than those of spring, collegiate herbs of lovers' kiss scattered in search of the great upheaval, a piece of bread at the bottom of the bag, water in the ciborium of alterities. We will raise the Sound of ricochets, pebbles thrown on the river, accessible to asylum seekers, coming out of our exile. 332
