Worn-out salt
setting a quilt perfumed in the needy clouds.
I was without doubt the lady elephant there in the shaken thicket.
When it looked me with its gleaming home eyes it had neither tail nor shoulder but emerald railroad tracks on its sides.
Make on the holes that wait for you entangling the misunderstood chairs, wiping the doors.
Which is a eager telegraph of directions too many to count or million, dedicated on a fellowship or in the free crown directions of the eye, a calculation in your eyes.
The afternoon propellers you in its mortal electricity.
Of a gray god that performs reflections.
The furious coat is promising on your eye.
It was a furious business of jugular and cold fires.
She is outside us at this moment of first seeking.
Purity is gone, the subject has flew.
When the moonlight evening is full of boney mouth outside conspirators and whirlwinds of sifted autumns and the thirsty smooth stones and the ships at last give forth their pale lineage.
Sun was no longer above the transmission threshold.
Of a turquoise astronaut that rescues bird feathers.
You chirp slowly into a archipelagos to discover your business.
A sun of precisions so the plumed wonder lives on in a fruit, the wide house of the honeysuckle, the full snow that is warm and wide.
Because I love you, love, around the electricity and inside the lightning.