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first draft from Primitive Pianos

21st April 2010

everybody fooled me
the evening folded
everybody blushes
and disappears
the birds crawl
on the branches
the branches do not break
what is there to understand
in the silence of this Turkish
desert what is there to
listen to if not Istanbul
I must carve
something new in this
blind cell
are my lips wet
or dry we listen only
to mutiply the mountains
sing of ashes
there can be no
turning back

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