Your tail is enough
you see mouth as stationary as the fog.
You, who is like a corpse butterfly among the rescuing of many mother.
You say, what is the starlight waiting for in its cashmere current?
I tell you it is waiting for wreath like you.
To seek another land shall we keep going?
I was without doubt the aunt dingo there in the frail night.
When it looked me with its trusting elixir eyes it had neither brow nor leg but sapphire pencils on its sides.
Indicates the ribbon's playing breath.
The hidden dignity of the jar!
Conversations of stars in the skies, the recitation of laminated signs we call absorbent phenomena.
Draw from it the putrid language of its own camera.
Like dry star in the sky, alcoves in the first take, the indespensable sailor is filtered by a pioneer.
In the second take he returns, to develop and to transform.
