At one window or the other, darkly, rapt before the sky.
Dissolving into a single space, an inner wall of instant whiteness, and gaining light, gobbling it into a void-like calm.
Motionless, it droops, gently, gently.
Magnetic foliage: an architecture contaminated by delirium, of past moments.
Never a body unalone but instead bodies that divide, regions of wetness or dryness, bodies segmented, pieces of furniture in a room of sudden bifurcations, disintegrations, fusions, dismemberments, coagulations, ramifications.
The same self, but always another self.
A mosque, a palace, no, a cloud, two clouds, with separate entrances, and rats as big as elephants.
Threads knotted together, tangled in a skein of enigmas.
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