Calm funerary monuments tramples the parched ground of this deserts. The recoiled shadowy boredom submerges this incautious verziere of dreams. Again the black flow of time defeated the chariots of the shining age and overturned in muddy fords. Imbued in this fabric of memories the present of my dubious certainties, a worn edge of worn-out years where the past is pain and the wait has already passed.
3am thoughts, of my late cousin, for my late cousin and our early dreams.