The pleasures of the damned,
are limited to brief moments,
of happiness: like the eyes in the look of a dog, like a square of wax, like a fire taking the city hall, the county, the continent, like fire taking the hair of maidens and monsters; and hawks buzzing in peach trees, the sea running between their claws,
Time,
drunk and damp,
everything burning,
everything wet,
everything fine.
-C.B.