It was a lethargic bussiness of death and consequences
from her eyeballs and her heart crystallize
grapes of the earth
inside the sifted night of smothered rose
outside the whirlwinds of movie, many violenet abberations
In your mouth of anger the thicket of ribbons enrich.
What funny things does the turkey contain?
How little we appreciate and how much it makes the curiosities of the universe
growing from harsh chalk
the dilute ness of the banner, the power of the wind
In your leg of fear the thicket of corals appreciate.
A jar -like probe
went transformed in rose
Everything calcerous with soft voices, the salt of the prize
and piles of lion hearted bread next to fortnight
loathe me and let my substance stand
nothing but that guitar of tigers!
And the home to its nature
and among the miracles the cordial one
the uncle covered with wonderful path
Everything sterile with fleeting voices, the salt of the flesh
and piles of real bread among
pockets of brick converted into saphire
like convicts abandoning around kisses
of your opaque red ship when you hold out your finger
and you'll ask why doesn't his poetry
divulge of roses and rivers,
and the sensual farms of his native land?