We will then shut up, perfume purple heart of soul. Beautiful black eyes of a being of tea. At a table and chair thorny rope. Between walls with framed cold, rough as the plan together today. A grain here shale, tar is dried crumbs faceted, porous granules.
We will shut all doors open.
With over our brows lifted a roof of palm leaves us fresh breezes rippling in dutiful and austere. In tables
gaping between the dark walls, the world in his absence has painted blue and ocher varies according arcs incident to the cuts in hours and hours slender drooping. Some forests also expanded far and confabulations. And maybe sometimes stripped sketches where we can guess what lived there, which led us, and will we know which will survive.
No road goes to where we are. All traces confused by the invisible movement of layers of dust.
And finally our bloods together irreconcilable, boiling with so many crimes. Anxiety subsided.
Corps appeased the convict who has welcomed the sentence. From a laugh that shook him to aggravate the severity. In thinness who cares. That brings his bones in his isolation. That revives his gesture easements breathing. Who hangs up his neck to folding pensive. And puts a needle in his hands alone.
We will, therefore, as we meet again. Frail feathers fish growth-oriented, open to any boiled them to fill in space that is stretched. Also full well, destinies previous few chances ironic, charming expired a brave love, and a bewildered look, beyond all wounds, darted obstinately on the number and the figure for no solutions.
We will have to eat if we go back to driving force, wise fools of ignorance, then in hopes of recognizing our causes the yoke of song and word, useless birds in the air when sleep finally pacified the nightmares meaningful.
Everything here is so long, much longer than losing a signal from the galaxies. And all will be well along. Unbearably long. Death knows what a smile we must address. Sometimes we understand.
There will be no guards. We can escape. And after ... For what asylum. For what is missing and is not here or inlaid in the stone all around outside. For what a crowd. Who would forget that the fear. Everyone is there. The echoes are even better held and many more than in any electronic boxes. Whole course dissipate far back the banks. Ever frayed towards primordial forces of which haunts us blind and the other fails to solve our appearances and our disappearance. And rehearsals.
Purple Heart perfume core. Linen gas leaked frames studded with ant codified. To us the drunken transport boats tossed on which alarmed the pitching, arm themselves with armadas, which flow so many others.
But it's over to admire himself, microscopic target in the maze where braid screened the Gordian knot. One feature would suffice to nothing. Does not stress more. To become the stem horizon in the sky, from which hang rows of billions of forms. Choose where stifling chance. Weaver and stoic, to try to say something else is sleeping. And did just that.
Working at the grave on top of all that comes. Work the finger arrow who prefers hesitation. Work in spite of all vanity. Working speed to power reversed. Work the sand into the eyes that are silent. And only the instrument that one is oneself. Working behind the scenes and confusion of the scene. At the risk of escape of the partition.
Fine black eyes of a being of tea. Drink water tinged with a body at night. Nowhere we met. But there together within these walls where the desire replaces the stomach. Echanson steward of the beat. In a ceremony in discrete steps. Quelqu'après twelve o'clock and sat against the light in a frame.
My little bit of me in flesh just another beat. My other thought that I fled. Me and my silence returns. My other finally reduced to only service of my thirst. And counting of the product which I must pay money without knowing a random ridiculous privilege.
We will shut it.
Anyone or anything. Final. Without recourse.
Because it does not kill.
Almost everything else is possible.
Almost.
But not kill.
it is better to withdraw then.
Walk down the gold and artificial winds. Just a laugh
infant in the iron bowl. And
clear sorrows in a pitcher of land.
Remove any misfortune in the reflection loaded additions usurped, hairstyles ash, injuries borrowing, attractions and hatreds stolen.
If it simply be that more is already in order, distant wisp black laminated mouth open at all feedings, cage bent gift of nature, old timer, fortune mud, and that there is sort of what is present. Let
shelter happy. A treasure map of ancient fantasies. Tales unlivable. I told a workshop there too long. Time to remove unnecessary altars, idols grimacing, vases effusion, copy machines, credit intimate conferences, and all these bits of marble, metal, glass, absently exhumed statues hinges reserved or order ringfenced, notoriety obedient.
Variation on a theme.
Finally, filial Similarly, a wire undeniable, and though one considers the amount staked in terms of fronts and trips sunny, well here it is dragging something true. That was not there at the very beginning. Who managed to live so all that was there before. And maybe we exceeded. And do we know what he would do if we could catch up with better future as written in the letters that both were able to write all gods and less.
We have plenty of that evidence.
Not that any, one or more.
But we do have more need. Neither
that. Neither
evidence.
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