On the eve of the night with a hug that’s irreparable. His lanky hand‘s accommodating, silently we know what splendid disorder is, we know rigorous annoyance and our postponement’s never specified.
My only open window comes out humming songs of months already lost. And only opens windows that look out on pedestrians. As I turn my gaze half hidden toward the sun.
We enter the origin, the how and the forever then we go — prostrate. And we turn ourselves around three times, postponing recognition and that honeyed thing, so we may contain ourselves to achieve a new sensation that we do not know exists.
Dressed in my destiny, living the hours in spontaneity with few rainbows. In the middle of this fable: The words surround me. Maybe I can slide onto the canvas and enter the city — invisible.
Stars are pupils among the waves in the sea as a dragonfly passes under the sun and breaks the still current of the moment.
Inside me there is laughter, the spirit; a secret fire light that dwells in my body like a cry that is exorcised from within. I want to return to April to be with the friends who did not show up this spring, or maybe I will be with them in a foreseeable winter.
My life’s in the corners as I try to hold on to the balance of the world when God rises from the ruins, while the sons of men make their universe on paper boats that get smashed. There’s no joy, except in the projection of their universe.
Vulnerable as it continues, the sun, the afternoon, and the cries are from the same eyes, everything is water in this shared night. I discover my body in the wall, a vestige emerging with misty fingers adhered to no one, an embrace of warm hardship, inhabited in serene blue.
I do not think darkness is secondary,
It is viable on my pupils
and perpetuates in my soul.
I try not to think about violence
but the sensations are monumental
because the deepest thing is to love without suffering.
I leave my doors open to the wind,
as I exorcise the indolence and phrases,
the stubborn beasts that make us lose our way.
In the morning when you wake up
from your highest towers,
the wind can devastate
the stature of birds.
And when the sun begins to hide,
weaving light into objects.
You regret the loss of your soul,
with a little of God diminished in the air.