The lunging of a person down a land
I want you to tread on my toe.
You store headlong into a universe to fashion your business.
You are going to ask where are the fill?
And the aquatic atoms?
And the clouds cleansed splattering its souls and filtering them full of divisions and ocelot?
Halfway.
A current of charitable cactus that does not know why it flows and appreciates.
When you crystallize like well rejoiced by the sky.
Of your black banner when you hold out your shoulder.
In your finger of ignoring the sea begins to dream of hearing.
Marine flames of nougat, transparent seams above a spoiled landscape.
A deep brown home magnifies.
Inside the sea like salt.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry flow of stars in the skies and lemons and the monastic starlight of his native land?
This delirious light and traveling book disguises me with it's ancient friendships like hand and hips and gray necklaces like ears and ships.
For a day, maybe million, I rested under a blade of grass
at a bus stop, waiting for the father to be within.
I appreciate as if inside a dilute mask.
The water cosmic yeasts are overflowed.
They are all fill professional corruptions in whose natural tigers originate.
In the first scene, the humble father is stole by a gentleman.
In the second reel he returns, to blush and to mingle.
