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A constant undone

The stricken atmosphere in the central south provinces
suspicious smells between the trees and all-naturals
could be about the decaying birds on the ground since
every root feeds on death and nothingness, then trees

in a drained dry bathtub with the clothes on all night
the tiles around are blank, between them a nation of nausee
a man without a proper face waits for them but they never
what is more, that bathroom had no windows nor tiles

and pale hands live off the points sourcing from his veins
loitering spirits in each glass that's how summers pass that's how summers pass
never sleep, never wake