Too Much Static For A Beguine
Indifference, masculine, traitor, and into that milling
swarm the enemies pointed their guns towards the window panes of our rooms. Tonight, a few meters further from the house, her father shows off a few gold english coins,
pretending to offer them as an act of charity. The winter
must be in the house. Soon. In the harms of night, a
silence which even crickets don't dare profane. Repeated
howls are heard. We walk to the lake and sink into the
frozen water. Everything is static
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