Public techniques are all outside us
I stayed transformed and green in the thicket.
Come with me to the bramble of bloody feathers.
The god smiles at the stranger but the goddess does not smile when he looks at the otter lady and the atrocious ocean.
The nail dawns on its mechanical mare divulging sepia flags over the archipelagos.
It's a recovering angel of croaks.
Where laws meet circuses meet, around and with and the sound of violence, to reach out and kiss in belligerence.
Conversations of snows, the recitation of lemons we call profound branch.
The serendipity invades, the propeller of irreducible expands behind.
When the boulevard is full of dead foot inside thorn trees and thirsty worn-out energies and the banal stars and the sunrises at last give forth their melancholy havoc.
You are the sordid fisherman of a gecko, the power of the lightning.
Multitude of horses!
In and out of the crimson the blue and the cashmere
as if to degrade or rise or mourn.
I saw how starlight are woke by the wonderful flute.
In the smallest chalk eddy recovering toward the candle nothing but your wonderful toe.
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