face face to the touch of our hearts within reach of the ash tree without gesture or word high gaze standby sums On the photos serious and sad to jump from the top of the tree fire hummingbird passacaglia of the mists showing veinlets with one hand to decipher in the evening by candlelight yellowed identity papers that the wind scatters before our sleepless eyes.
O face unique face of passing time dazzled infanta be the receptacle of our tears thesalt of our meeting from stick to thistle from Job to gray to growl in front of the dung mingling with basalt pebbles glowing mixture Virginia creeper and the red wall oh face that a lack of spirit erases flat stone laid in the morning on the garden wall mixed breaths face to face for all eternity.
Are you here glissando without evasion to carry me on the gentle wave moon interview in the parlor bark torn from the cork oak weaving through the slow crowd dazzled passenger fragrant scents. My soul only randomly on an outing saw himself taken in the flood of migrants oh my soul otherness is another identity from the other to oneself the very source of solidarity.
Under the temple gutter y'a romance the saga of passing time the procession of wooden soles the thrill of the reeds the hinge of a door that we open and creaks tomorrow or after tomorrow nothing at all arms dangling eyes up horizontally festoons of clouds beyond the sky in mild syncope on the clay pavement to scratch with chipped nails the passage of ants in the river to be towards the treeless wrinkled sand.
My age sitting against the tree looked extinguished tallow ball at nightfall an icebreaker poultice back from mission of father and mother the descendant at the risk of knowing terminal flame my annals scattered a windy evening open career and last cartage in cahoots with the apocalyptic reasoner our builder our gravedigger our inventor.
Discount tide retroceded tide countdown tide deposited tide recovery tide will i see the last hiccup slide down the gorse slope standby pond sphagnum my correspondence in a good crew speeding along without waiting for me to die ebbing crying under the mercantile canopy family links.
Black of Black in the underground writing desk from corolla to corolla tighten the rope between dog and wolf.
Capture the prosody of the screeching of vultures dizzying sailboats garbage collectors of remains without suspicion without counterfeit overwhelming with sadness. Rise of outstretched hands sprung white of the anthracite wall to the reflections of the moon away from city lights to the sound of whelks sentinel draped in leather cloak what does the cowherd wear whip raised, viaticum before the altar where to surprise the avowed flaw. The Grand Bédé stands the screwed clown hat on his forehead Frankenstein, distaff gorilla tagging on clay tablet the wounds of his thought, cuneiform traces engraved on the doorstep drip of a sky crying to know itself loved.
Tallow in the throat the sliding of a rope. The edge of desire the landing net in hand. Anything goes everything reflects the presence. In front of the mirror cheerful face.
Move on from what's hard to what is tender.
be in love with oneself.
No theory just an intensity from within.
Grace we receive it.
Mom stop telling me not to. The transmission a relay race.
Every soul is rich attention to others.
full of butterflies these weightless messengers.
Between broom and gorse the walls open.
Spin the wind avoiding dead ends. Before the real silence sweet romp. Listen the air to breathe.
So beautiful in the shade and sewn in spirit she strutted straw hat according to the matrix glances. arose between cats between dogs brief surprises without batting an eyelid the cigarette in apostrophe. Grumbled above in the court of outrage the cave frescoes of his borrowed clothes caught in the rays of a bicycle without crutch with tinkling bell and wooden fenders to stand up straight. She was zigzagging from plane tree to plane tree the frog ditch bursting its bitter bubbles as you wander. Without ceremony lace in the wind she tore the morning mist hands on the handlebar tape a hint of mimosa on the nose. So beautiful in the shade and sewn in spirit she strutted straw hat according to the matrix glances.
Step by step, from trip to trip, in a circus circle que le sable encense the rumor raises the curtains of the show. colorful entrance, noisy barnum, raised dust of the animal procession, passions of the soul raised to the pinnacles of the temples to dismantle, to make sense and transform. Of blood and colors, the furious cries of the Erinyes have destroyed the landscapes of childhood, the clay lips of springs have made way with cement nozzles, the stone of the protections has been torn out, the hedges have been cut down, filled ditches, the silver fox will no longer find the center, an evil wind blows the lumps of earth towards the dry stone terraces, an old ash tree whispers its last dispositions. The night coos, soul pigeons overhanging breaches of the human condition, populist lies replace the song of the poets, the tracks of war engines follow the iron shoes of the hairy, the sky is darkening, even the trees sculpted by the west wind lay down in the storm. The air is foul, on the wailing wall life papers crumpled and forced at the joints of the stones covered in lichens become panting flesh of a random tzimtzum. emaciated hands, out of the pockets to match scratch oblivion, rolling eyes clip the values of the spirit, a sour cream clown smile makeup our last wanderings. The fury takes over at night, in silence, made ugly by the passes of arms fights and hatreds, dappled by lifting new harvests, become a willing accomplice of a shoddy renaissance. There is officinal herbs than those of spring, collegiate herbs of lovers' kiss scattered in search of the great upheaval, a piece of bread at the bottom of the bag, water in the ciborium of alterities. We will raise the Sound of ricochets, pebbles thrown on the river, accessible to asylum seekers, coming out of our exile.
Step by step, from trip to trip, in a circus circle that the sand insulates the rumor raises the curtains of the show. colorful entrance, noisy barnum, raised dust of the animal procession, passions of the soul raised to the pinnacles of the temples to dismantle, to make sense and transform. Of blood and colors, the furious cries of the Erinyes have destroyed the landscapes of childhood, the clay lips of springs have made way with cement nozzles, the stone of the protections has been torn out, the hedges have been cut down, filled ditches, the silver fox will no longer find the center, an evil wind blows the lumps of earth towards the dry stone terraces, an old ash tree whispers its last dispositions. The night coos, soul pigeons overhanging breaches of the human condition, populist lies replace the song of the poets, the tracks of war engines follow the iron shoes of the hairy, the sky is darkening, even the trees sculpted by the west wind lay down in the storm. The air is foul, on the wailing wall life papers crumpled and forced at the joints of the stones covered in lichens become panting flesh of a random tzimtzum. emaciated hands, out of the pockets to match scratch oblivion, rolling eyes clip the values of the spirit, a sour cream clown smile makeup our last wanderings. The fury takes over at night, in silence, made ugly by the passes of arms fights and hatreds, dappled by lifting new harvests, become a willing accomplice of a shoddy renaissance. There is officinal herbs than those of spring, collegiate herbs of lovers' kiss scattered in search of the great upheaval, a piece of bread at the bottom of the bag, water in the ciborium of alterities. We will raise the Sound of ricochets, pebbles thrown on the river, accessible to asylum seekers, coming out of our exile. 332
