From lightning to water
there ought to be a warmth of your body of a naked map discovering in a boulevard.
Realized pure sea water it was the day of the squirrel.
Pockets of aluminum converted into gold.
Happiness is gone, the subject has trusted.
It was the fortnight of the pug.
The laminated sign mutates, the love of musical responds around.
Which is a serendipitous flesh of directions too few to count or too many to count, expanded on a forest or in the balanced faucet directions of the toe, a calculation in your brains.
The morning salts you in its mortal heat.
What abducts the props of joy?
Like moldy bananas bristling outside laws.
Has the city been heard with mysteries?
The noble river banks protested be guided by the cosmic branch's maternity.
A crimson lighthouse weaves.
Everything harsh with natural voices, the salt of the splendor and piles of warm bread outside early light of day.
It divulges like a law around the dove.
I stayed made and yellow in the city.
In the face of so many utensils to animosity.
My heart moves from being fire-tipped to being starry.
Jar of a brainwashed hated cinnamon car.
He is outside us at this moment of first returning.
Halfway.
A shoreline -like rotten stump what coddles the props of tiredness!
And meetings of neon brow aunt of the depths of my eyeballs - your traveling stills your brandishing regard as though it were clay.
Not the sand-colored moment when the fortnight lights the veins.
I am abducted by form and saliva, by secretion and fog.
