The year was eighteen seventy-eight
Beneath a ruthless, burning sky
Dry Creek slept, remote and sedate
Where dust danced wild and secrets lie

The air was thick with ghostly tales
Wooden homes and slow-worn feet
A silent sheriff on dusty trails
Where time itself forgot to beat

But fate, unseen with playful hand
Brought to the path a gleaming surprise
A box unmarked, from no known land
...

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Once upon a time, there was a cake that was not just a cake
It was the cocoa powder, dark and bitter earth
that once was seed, fruit, promise
It was the butter, golden fat, almost alive
melting under touch, like fear or desire
It was the sugar, sweet and cruel
dissolving into itself
like memories that refuse to be remembered

The eggs are cracked, fragile shells of worlds
and from them f...

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There is a silence that is not silence
It is the air that refuses to enter
It is the footsteps that echo in empty corridors
the time that drags, heavy
like a body that no longer feels

Fascism does not come with noise
It comes with the absence of song
with the hand that closes around the throat
and says, "This is not pain. This is order."

But there is a light that insists
A tiny light...

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