Split pupils dolls the size of a bell

Split pupils dolls the size of bells swallow rusting clocks without arrows in their hair nesting birds from the past century whose screams no one has heard since the death of the colours between the fingers of the elephant and the wax wailing time with the taste of non-existent metals, the city will be turned inside out like a glove forgotten by an Empress and dolls drink milk from the cracked cups of the Storm’s sunset leading to the sky, whose porcelain necks are not wrapped around the faces of the forgotten children of their dresses, and beneath them are maps of unsatisfied travels in windows not reflected by people but by the absence of humans and the presence of the void of the doll change places when the clock beats 13 and the city folds as a paper fan in the hands of an invisible dancer