the laughter,
my cigarettes,
let the wounds
cicatrize well.
Where the brick
is assembled
to the niter
and History resists,
thanks to
promiscuous shallowness.
From the Quay
it can be smelled,
how water wastes
no time.
Stucked remains,
in this side
of the tale,
of the coast,
of the countenance.
Take away
the laughter,
my cigarettes,
but let the poetry,
stay."
