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​A NEW SHIRT
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The tea acquires a taste of slops.
Overripe lemons rot on branches.
Along the road, rattling engines wrestle with the distraught summer.
Drowsy bones crack under the scorching claws of the day
and you,
getting ready to pay me a visit,
put up a new shirt
over secret diseases.

From a distance I try to understand
the pure side of things.
The Virgin’s holy eyes are blinking quickly, quickly,
stopping the flood of tears
at the frontier between worlds.