I walk through an anemic street

Its galvanized paleness generating a ****** fever

Menstrual blood smears the walls the alleys

There is an expectancy of life and death

As a single occurrence

An experience of inseparability

It is a primitive animistic street

That propels dark gods to ****** frenzy

Who generate molten red drifts

Along the steerage of its passage

It is a street that has anticipated its journeys

Of a concentrated and indelible red

Of loud and terrible silence

That knots around white waists

Speaking in frantic crimson

It is a street of cycles