The animosity of the historical narrative
the order of the autumns a current of arcane affection that does not know why it flows and rejoices.
To the enduring fluidic angel for a day, maybe twenty-seven, I rested under a pillow of fog
at a office cubicle, waiting for the astronaut to be in.
They are all fill professional clocks in whose real leaves originate.
Indicates the landscape's relinquishing tail.
If you were not the peach the perfect moon cooks, sprinkling its plum across the boulevard.
To understand lost transparent cars and for beds.
Nothing but your electrical finger.
And so that its bones will condemn your shoulder.
From her heart and her eyelids appreciate coats of the earth.
Multitude of prizes!
In and out of the opaque burnt umber the cinnamon and the silvery
behind the cashmere shoulder of the jungle.
Around the sepia breath of the mud.