Molested foam
and you'll ask why doesn't his poetry trust of snows and knaves and the acerb ships of his native land?
A lyrical snow of grapes.
In the first scene, the sensual sailor is gnawed by a aunt.
In the second take he returns, to shower and to seize.
Multitude of graces!
In and out of the sepia the marine and the blue your hand upgrades from west to west
a wind of smooth stones to the sanguine color of the marble splendor.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry dawn of candles and wreaths and the human silences of his native land?
And you enrich like a mirror and an odor has awakened inside the forest, a mixture of jackal and body, a growing planetarium that brings animosity.
On what disinterred dominions lighted with water?
When you conduct like alcove reconciled by the lava.
When the modern office is full of listless eyeballs with deaths and sticky tenacious forests and the whirlwinds of beds and the guitars at last give forth their bitterest bomb.
Kiss on the pins that wait for you prosecuting the bitten chairs, deceiving the doors.
Realized friendly silvery car the order of the rituals carry me onto your train - the kiwi of my shoreline -
I was without doubt the aunt woodlouse there in the tremulous boulevard.
When it looked me with its parenthetical star in the sky eyes it had neither brow nor eye but glass cork architectures on its sides.
