I have to knit
I will make to kneel your tears of copper
flood jungle of fragments.
I’m going to sink my footprint
on scalding oil
upset one’s breath.
Your blood makes me drunk in a so bitter way
with your nimble tongue of gold, sealing my complaints.
I will enlightening your human clots,
to drown in spasms,
reversing my skin.
My voice is rotting in the rough dust
imprisons your flesh of dense fog.
The river never repeats
because it is not the same.