did we replace the jungle of leaves,
with a jungle of thieves?
for there is plenty of wind in both
the ground feels all burdens.
a bold wind can blame the cholera
when the noises heard from opened windows
carries a neutral, nerveless passion
killing you to freedom,
and the last bit of child has left me,
was left by me,
in the spring of 97'
its skin dust settles sour
in the lungs of us all.