As seven oxidized seven-branched candelabra
are your forty-nine insolent reproaches;
seven poison impregnated black nails
admonitions that challenge with seven rows of teeth;
But tonight sunflowers are rising
to face the darkness, to take their destiny;
moths will bite the lining of your soul
and your damn words will vanished.
Tonight rivers of honeysuckle shall flow,
born in my eye sockets,
they will rampage your reservations,
flood with their strength your anger
and die in your breasts and legs.
Tonight I'm going to kill seven beasts
with the fine knife of my joy.