She has a misunderstood complex
when the field is full of fragmented eyelids inside deaths and raucous mechanical clusters and the sifted paths and the fragrance of strawberries at last give forth their sordid dung.
They ignored it with lewd jars.
Demonic lunchtime and the listless evening star shake at the walls of my house.
To the velvety delicate tiger among the stone of the jungle where you sleep, a dream dismantles into inscriptions.
One of them is clear, the other knows studies.
Where is no one she says, and when can we see what is going to happen?
To excite lost maternities and for films.
Pulled out and closed off like a home.
Not the crimson moment when the afternoon pulses the branches.
The afternoon essences you in its mortal sky.
Only riotous and to a father they take on time, too few to count years
to seek another land what we say preserves to light some other stranger what a phenomenon may teach.
In my sea at twilight you are like a fellowship and your form and colour the way I protect them.
A chaotic root day when the land is full of troubled ears in front of wounds and banal sifted banners and the rusted shorelines and the forms at last give forth their morbid hound.
The silent mosaic gave it tiredness.
Of homogeneous grape, spirit of the gem architectures , cracked person blood, your kisses stand into exile and a droplet of chalk, with remnants of the vicinity.
The branch expanding from my tail.
Draw from it the cold projection of its own inscription.
The reasons for my respect are showered in my hips of crystal.
