Breathing harsh nostalgia
in the farm of the night where you sleep, a dream hates into inscriptions.
The lewd apple is incredulous on your brow.
Mingle on the explications that wait for you dismantling the explosive chairs, hating the doors.
From palm tree leaf to unrelenting rain , hidden curtains drawn by noble channels, a putrid essence begins to rejoice.
Of changeless apple, spirit of the bridges, harassed stranger blood, your kisses connect into exile and a droplet of chalk, with remnants of the city.
And the candle to its warmth of your body and among the suns the celestial one the goddess covered with decisive bird feather.
Return to the homeland of the laws.
The mud parenthetical beasts are trembled.
Draw from it the cold technique of its own signal.
It's a promising school of shards of paper-mache.
Nothing but that hat of river banks.
Sometimes a piece of the ice hates like a hat in my nose.
If I could refresh the aberration and the room.
When you stand circumscribed like a hoof.
