Days and they are gone
but his deeds remain, indeed...

I hear the sound of the violin
long before it begins...

I am not a racist
if I wish to hold on to my identity...

You can drop bombs on my town,
shoot little boys in the head and kneecaps...

The lashes you saw marked on my body
are but half the story...

The penumbra of Illumination.
The echo of birds’ footsteps in silence...

The magic...
of entertainment...................... .......of...

The audio of this...

With you I'm begun,
no more a phantom...

The river crosses
prairies like a butterfly...

In the absolute pitch of trustless dark
I found the touch of your fingers...

Between the tangles of all the floggings
skies...