The stones snatch the fear
when the darkness pulls down the curtain
the eye closes the room in blues
the hand sleeps, and the fish in the aquarium
like a picture of a river
There was such a flower
the alley in the dream grows grows
grows grows grows
one who smashes the space in a night
and holds a hand
reclining the head to the wall allover
whose noise is as gross as the woods
the child paving a way for the sun and wrestling
a lighthouse which is late
with all its arrivals
Begs the hour hastily
The blood-carrying vein accrues the dawn
My name compells the most feared truth
that is called by the door
the one entered with heads down
There was such a flower
whose capillary roots
were of the era's walls of jolt
it is a man here
of the diameter of a love
kind of detained in jail
when the streaming water awakes, man
is an ant who wants to cross the water
stamping on his hands of the flames of a stone
he does not leave his possessions in the sleep |
