There you stand In that place made of distances Where topologies break And worms dance the waltz At the rhythm of apologies In their heads a bow of rain As harlots of babylon In their throats the hyena That shrieks its laughter At a joke made man Masturbating to the cross Counting beads that run Through the knuckles At the speed of thought Waiting for the redemption That has already dissolved As sugar in a glass of wine















