Between the Stone and the Flower

At the dawn of silenced poisons

we wake up as serpents



We wake up as stones,

stubborn roots

fleshless thirst, mineral lips...



Under this light of frozen lamentation

the henequen, motionless and furious

in its green forefingers

turns visible that which stirs us

the silenced rage that devours us...



Magical money!

It rises up on the bones,

on the bones of men it rises up.



You pass like a flower through this sterile hell,

formed only of shackled time,

mechanical running, empty wheel

that squeezes us out and leaves us empty

and dries up our blood,

and the place of tears is killing us.



Because money is infinite and creates infinite deserts...