A vinyl with all of your silence

At the end of the night

a tone of air, a voice like the lines at the Louvre

are recorded

by letting an elephant die:

a vinyl with all of your silence

scratched with a brain learning how to forget you.

Not even id I were to bury it, your palate would not be heavy,

not even if I were to listen to it, your flesh will not appear.

A microphone pulls up beneath every place that snows.

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