3pm

there's a unicorn in the sky whose horn was crafted by the training fighter jets of the state.

the winter wind pushes its body to gallop over the top of the continuously stretching shoreline where a few couples brave the biting breath of the sea. its hooves leaving trails of pillows and cottons in the sky run wild above towers of glass and shacks of wood and bricks where underpaid, overworked workers sweat their way to survival.

it pierces every empty space in the horizon as it rushes towards the spot under the sign of the virgo.

this creature mesmerizes the eyes as it creates impressions of tiny unicorns that diffuse with the wind upon each leap. it seems unstoppable, one may think, for whenever its head gets cut by passenger planes it re-attaches itself back to the body. it doesn’t seem to rest but rather grows bigger and darker as the moon outshines the sun.

soon it suddenly comes to a halt. as the stars of virgo reach down for it, its body precipitates to tears down the virgin soil of our forefathers, our mothers and our brothers.