Let’s take a train ride today.
It’s coming from a place where history happened and sleeps walked through wild forest.
The whistle and the desert and the indigenous cry for freedom…for music…for riots.
It stops at a station where monks immerse their desires,
for flesh, for madness, for transcended moaning.
It stops at the legend…where a killer stopped for a poem and put himself through the blades…
where bloods floated from vaginal borders.

The riders are inside managing their fear… managing their dereliction.
The sunset is near…the train stops for a good half an hour…and some bushes of fire coming close…
the demon is crowning, the breeze is warm…and the skeletons are flying…fly fly fly fly fly like there’s no tommorow.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Sara Urbaez.

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