I'm drowning   
And drown myself in the salient of memories    
Infusion of what comes    
About this provision  
Waiting at the edge of the hole    
Deep sea fish    
Who meets the lucidity of the insomniac    
Participates in the unraveling of the inner gesture.        
 
Marche      
And put me The heart on the way    
To recruit the young shoots of the spirit    
For men's game hoop    
Roll down the slope    
Towards the stream of expectations    
Primroses fracturing in the clear    
The facts of providence    
With small jets of steam    
In the torpor of a preaching morning.        
 
There is no sidelining    
That what we ourselves operate    
On stage    
And hop ! Thrown away from the coast    
Screaming seagulls returning to shore    
The august gesticulation    
Of the allegorical promise    
With a soul slung over one shoulder.        
 
 
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