Silence in Interzone

Dazed I descend

the slope that ends

in drowsy mazes

of Interzone.

Open to quivering cracks,

to the slumbering filth

in half-light,

I slip in the stench of alleys,

and I penetrate languid dead ends,

when suddenly emerges

a young bewildered,

lips trembling,

hungry look.

— Come on ! she screeches,

I'm torn !

torn ...

Lifting up her dress

she shows me the paleness

of her thigh,

and she shuts up.

And I faint

in carnal silence.

The silence

of her thigh.