The DNA of the mood
and the ligament of
the desires
As if I were
in Galapagos.

the umbilical bond
to the music
not the rock
I don’t have the metal for that
but the ones on the
smooth end of the spectrum
is pristine.

the belly rhythm
was in nirvana
and the
iron cage above
and the skull fibres
up above
got a fine relief.

Humming hair
and the philosopher’s nose
surrendered to
the bony lyrics.

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