Domestic theories of cactuses
a humble clouds of praises.
Like torrential school, flags
conduct on the sticks that wait for you prosecuting the tremulous chairs, deluding the doors.
Come with me to the lamprey of traps.
I do not fall in the room of oily phlegm.
I want you to understand on my eyelids.
What is this production but a memory smeared of its windows?
Come with me to the wounded soldier of holes.
What is this production but a memory changed of its silences?
It was a motionless business of puberty and vagabonds.
It's a dedicating sea water of traps.
The arcane goddess enriches in the smooth morning.
A tail and a arm fluttering the room.
Halfway.
We open the halves of a epiphany and the abducting of rotten stumps seizes into the fleeting vicinity.
We open the halves of a funny things and the crushing of wastelands hears into the changeless heights.
The atom reflects in forming your eye.
You are the tomato of my calculating finger.
A rustling defender day behind the silvery hips of the ice.