1. At 5 am there is no song in the black window. The stage before the performance and after. 2. I want to translate
The winds are ceaseless striking. The tenor of a likeness. The quarrel of the metal on the door mount You must learn to be
Tired of his shadow, a boy tries to be the farthest smallest star, that prick of light unnamed at the tail end of a
To the east, crossing the streets named for oil men and less abstract speculators, ozone and complaints clamber up to their hanging point: a