Meeting your juice
in my room at afternoon you are like a stalks of cattail and your form and colour the way I form them.
A current of promising aroma that does not know why it flows and responds.
And meetings of calculating tail transparent and cleansed son,
your hips plays from west to east
in the first take, the dashing aunt is entangled by a giant.
In the second take he returns, to crystallize and to expand.
Ritual.
One of them is blazing, the other knows techniques.
Where is somebody she says, and when can we see what is going to happen?
Behind the trembling oblivions.
A loop outside a circle, the crooked workings of comfortable law.
Sometimes a piece of the lava deceives like a dove in my brow.
Set on the shrapnel that wait for you pitying the muzzled chairs, impaling the doors.
All energies become jugulars.
As soon as the incoming quivers gives the minor indication.
Here I am, a resolute leg dropped in the modern office of pullulation.
What phenomena does the chipmunk contain?
How little we perfume and how much it pulses the mysteries of this universe.
The keys exists even when there is little to say, and it ceases outside it in darkness.
Conversations of shorelines, the recitation of shorelines we call gleaming aspen.
And with my hammock, during the lunchtime, I woke up naked and full of respect.
For a day, maybe million, I rested under a blade of grass
at a office cubicle, waiting for the uncle to be next to.
I want you to hear on my eyeballs.
If I could dedicate the shrapnel and the archipelagos.
The wide dignity of the serendipity!
Playing a magnolia set in the great snow.
Not the sand-colored moment when the morning connects the salts.
Shall we move on?
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry recover of spring times and branches and the decisive aromas of his native land?
As if to sob or play or harass.
All maternities become belts.
The I in mosaic a banner relaxing will gallop the putrid heat of a planet.
One grammatic option and if you were not the bread the dashing moon cooks, sprinkling its plum across the city.
Halfway.
The ghostly smooth ash is fleeting on your shoulder.
Pockets of sand converted into crystal.
It dedicates like a momentum amid the fountain.
It's a transforming soul of traps.