A cup, like a woman's belly,
sustained through the native pistil
of a bunch of galloping stars
above the frightful ocean of ignorance.
This is how dream and intrepidity come together,
bathed in golds, bronze and ivory.
With his rowdy velvets,
and the revolved ideas.
The absurd is nothing more than a scream
of a madman without remedy.
The absurd is a toilet
for which the storms cry.