The moon is in the filling
not I’ve aging
a living soul
like moon beam
on a ship
upside down searching everywhere
all eyes gleaming lacquered, back vertical motionless,
rigorously synchronized with the light and breathing. And she was standing between something like Caryatid stuffed with arms crossed and anticipation as the Virgin Mary and the other red staircase between the gallows and shouted:
Make me a breakfast, without blemishes and become a witness terrible anatinaxis- terrible blow, from both ends to catch the boat to shake well -good and Freshly washed staged again in the waves.
And the Karyatida- Virgin Mary in the middle of the crowd, so that people looked surprised how he survived, he was on the point without anything, when suddenly he felt her lips move.
Drink-drink-drink with me, drink with me water, exposure to this age, if we s n s p o r indirectly to the computer with in- deliver their strengths, for otherwise useless seemed, drink-drink drink with me, drink with me water.
The spell read, slowly, through a paper ribbon supermarket, so great that flowed to the floor.
Cried the red again:
These eyes convenience stores every morning always winter there, looking like a waterfall. The Caryatid opened her coat, had a full coat pinned evidence supermarkets in lining pinned, was all filled water bottles small, large, medium. Fill a riverbed and then a lake and then a sea and then took what was the hell of Dante, filled a bowl and drank water.
My little love I gathered – and the thought of my youth got the sense
bird remains and ancient stars – to sing a forgiveness, what?
What to gaze upon everyone kept overnight in their armpit
between the hands of the mountains and running, where the footprints, no.
One – one of my shouting sea, go to the eye edge a storm
so go time, from the cheek of night
questions – questions love, where love
a rustling in the light and the outlet, missing, emptying load.
And I have filled water.
