I did not become a bird - another cobweb cherry.
The green swamps are my mistresses.
My path was wrong -
do not take me to your lashes.
My wings - two poems stunned -
feathers and words roam in the road steep.
I'm ruining your hair and the models
they become my handcuffs at dawn.
But this whiteness is about two,
and I remember bathing in dry ash.
My curtain is under quarantine
of star pox - short but ridiculous.
A square wind blew in the window
and chew the tops of the stars.
Seasons of new storm warders.
I do not know where you are. Pebble prick.
But after the turn came into my shoe,
will roll in the rucksack feels fresh
(scratching each flight without pretense).
And I'll laugh right up to your address.
Goodbye and Kisses ...