Spring is following…
Summer is reigning…
Autumn is closing…
And I am waiting
for the fifth season
that isn’t coming
for some reason.
Too much noise
flows through the wires of the world —
I am cooked, I am hurled.
I turn off the screen,
let it fall into the void,
to avoid
its relentless gleam.
Come —
to my voice,
where ashes bloom instead of flowers,
where the wind turns woolen
I am cooked, I am hurled.
I turn off the screen,
let it fall into the void,
to avoid
its relentless gleam.
Come —
to my voice,
where ashes bloom instead of flowers,
where the wind turns woolen
and silence towers,
and all the waters of the earth
gather into a single hole.
I am the fifth season —
and all the waters of the earth
gather into a single hole.
I am the fifth season —
and I come,
for some reason.
for some reason.
10.10.2025
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