murdered in a tavern,
your poet of your secret language...

now you cannot return to your
tragic fate.

Something ends and something begins.

But your soul will ask
which language and which literature?

From their edges
seeps an abyss
This war inside me
pushes me across a desert,
Sepia color is invading
tiny passages, the woods,
My wild west is like a cigarette
dangling from my pale lips…