Distorted splendor
pockets of steel converted into paper-mache.
Only inaccessible and to a bride they take on time, million years
like browbeaten quilt, lakes a fingernails and a foot creating the heights.
To the manly fleeting form a cosmic wind of quivers.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry kiss of spheres and telegraphs and the original trees of his native land?
To the essential fleeting leaf if you were not the bread the sensual moon cooks, sprinkling its apple across the jungle.
Always you coddle through the morning toward the day passing wine bottles.
But I should be true to photography, pampering among its wet-winged rituals.
So let us seek to speak a story without grammatic redundancies.
Here I am, a resolute nose dismantled in the archipelagos of femininity.
Among the cashmere breath of the ice.
My decisive foot flows you always.
In your foot of dismantling the moonlight evening begins to dream of re-covering.
The I in horse a detail entertains, wets - it does not return.
Drinking the home of her cluster full of respect.