Already the night fall, the pig to
which a flagellum took his breath
had a new companion. Inside the
improvised grave/pit in which beings
of putrefaction move, already
without choice and with the calm
that everything happens for
something, there is no room for
remorse. Each fall is an
opportunity, an option that
creatively transmutes into something
purely ritual, the noisy steps are
directed towards the inert corps full
of worms colored piss.
