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LUNAR TICK (20/02/2024) back Doesn't know what makes me tick, No celestial object, real or imagined, I'm the riptide of the movement Of the forgotten and the forever, Of the word on the tip of your tongue That you can't remember That you'll never reach Lunar tick Buried deep in the fur of the wolf that howls Or the pelt of the rabbit that belongs On the surface of the milk-white sphere Reflected on your pupil like a cataract Blinded and delirious, blinded by the fever That burned you alive from the inside Heatstroke hallucination Lunar tick It's a small arthropod that lives in the sea That looks for blood that isn't there In veins my formless body doesn't bear A white rabbit chases itself down a hole In pursuit of illusions cast by light But you've gotten my name wrong- I'm the dawn that burns up the night. ![]() |