The wind carried away the cottonwool
at five in the afternoon.
And the oxide scattered crystal and nickel
at five in the afternoon.
Now the dove and the leopard wrestle
at five in the afternoon.
And a thigh with a desolated horn
at five in the afternoon.
The bass-string struck up
at five in the afternoon.
Arsenic bells and smoke
at five in the afternoon.
Groups of silence in the corners
at five in the afternoon.
And the bull alone with a high heart!
At five in the afternoon.
When the sweat of snow was coming
at five in the afternoon,
when the bull ring was covered with iodine
at five in the afternoon.
Death laid eggs in the wound at five in the afternoon.
At five in the afternoon.
At five o'clock in the afternoon.



Cold Souls, Warm Hearts

by Underground Flower w. Bernadette Corporation

Curation, art direction: Torre Alain
Installation and photography: Valerie You ⁣
Poem by Federico Garcia Lorca


with thanks to TRESPASS, Sham Shui Po ⁣