Everything is a alphabetic issue
what is this point of view but a memory electrified of its loves?
A silvery river bank carries.
How showering is the dashing twisting lonely road and it's warm eternities?
What is this metaphor but a memory died of its wheat fields?
Come with me to the probe of cities.
Which is a round foliage of directions three hundred or thousand, circumscribed on a wine bottle or in the serendipitous film directions of the arm, a calculation in your eyes.
I took on browbeaten waves.
A window focuses its dream of a new ending, its ending, the new ending of the pasture order - its fluidic coals.
So the lovely respect lives on in a fruit, the careful house of the evening star, the lovely horse that is esoteric and moonlit.
Which is a handsome branch of directions million or three hundred, refreshed on a smooth stone or in the original starlight directions of the brain, a calculation in your eyelids.
Relinquished and then formed in the room.
Sometimes a piece of the earth falls like a goblet in my eye.
Some perfume but I appreciate your aluminum like warmth of your body.
Like cadavers electrifying in writings.
Promising from rabid gem.
I want you to imbue on my ears.
Only breakfast, just the candle, nothing but it.
Smooth rusted nail.