Do I have a choice
before knifing the page
for a meaning, when I was
drowned in a nostalgia?

Cinchona bark. This was my
keyword for living bitterly
under a tryant inciting
the riots of colors.

The digital death comes as
a reward for insane truth.
You turn the back on home
and walk towards the sea

to count the empty shells on beach.
Here life completes a cycle
from emptiness to emptiness.
You are ready to go in void.

(On the death of Steve Jobs.)