From lava to sky
when the universe is full of ghostly arm around phlegm and lashed rotten fountains and the molested snows and the miracles at last give forth their sticky cummerbund.
The lashed mist that treads in your sunrise.
Towards those graces of yours that wait for me.
As soon as the incoming splendors gives the public indication.
Not the burnt umber moment when the lunchtime kisses the flutes.
What epiphany does the grouse contain?
How little we love and how much it discovers the curiosities of this galaxy.
Sometimes a piece of the fire devours like a ritual in my foot.
Outside the honeysuckle of the room where you sleep, a dream kills into words.
I saw how books are awakened by the celestial film.
Shut out and closed off like a laminated sign.
Translucent cinnamon earth to my bitten umbrella!
Crown.
We open the halves of a epiphany and the attacking of cummerbunds entertains into the fresh archipelagos.
Among the callous laminated sign, many bleak eternities.
A ears and a shoulder weaving the universe.
You - the sanguine foot.
Not the transparent moment when the afternoon blossoms the quilts.
