Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

To Each Unfolding Leaf

Face behind the mask—limestone tomb against which beats the filtered light

Impure love is looking for you in the ruins

Granite-thumbed man with his sewn-up head

slipping the infinite lie beneath the hip of the seasons

laughing and setting up your trestle table

A man drunk down by death with neither shade nor roses nor any energy left with which to fight

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