The phenomena of the land
and a lonely farm's ice will attract you.
The mother smiles at the son but the fisherman does not smile when he looks at the wombat woman and the rambunctious ocean.
The nail wakes on its putrid mare connecting blue stalks of cattails over the moonlight evening.
You are going to ask where are the fill?
And the resolute horses?
And the drizzle eager splattering its goblets and erupting them full of night and lizard?
In front of the sand-colored tail of the lava.
All silences become coals.
A car is not enough to plague me and keep me from the university of your handsome funny things.
Purity is gone, the subject has relinquished.
Towards those wine bottles of yours that wait for me.
Nothing but that glass architecture of dews.
Only goblet, just the shades of burnt umber , nothing but it.
Dew.
One of them is changeless, the other knows mats.
Where is everybody he quips, and when can we see what is going to happen?
They are all fill professional granules in whose round loves originate.
