And this woman
is lonely
on the eve of a cold season,
at the beginning of understanding the contaminated existence of the earth
and the simple and sad despair of the sky
and the impotence of these cement hands,
time
has passed, and the clock has passed four times, it has
been played four times,
today is the first day of December,
I know the secret of the seasons
and I understand the words of the moments, the
savior is sleeping in the grave
, and the soil, the soil of the receptive
, is a hint of the calm of
time Four oclock passed, the
wind came in the alley, the
wind came in the alley,
and I thought of the mating of the flowers,
the buds with thin, bloodless legs,
and this tired time of tuberculosis,
and a man passing by the wet trees, a
man whose blue strands of veins
crawled up like dead snakes from both sides of his throat
, and repeated that bloody syllable in his twisted temples
. They
say hello,
hello, and I think about the mating of flowers,
on the eve of a cold season
in the mourning ceremony of the mirrors
and the mourning gathering of the pale experiences
and this sunset fertilized with the knowledge of silence
, how can the one who goes be so
patient,
heavy,
wandering,
commanded to stop.
How can a man be told that he is not alive, he has never been alive?
The wind blows in the alley, the
solitary crows
wander in the old gardens of boredom,
and how high the ladder is, they
took all the naivety of a heart
with them to the palace of stories
, and now
how can a man get up
and dance and pour his childs hair
into the flowing
waters and kick the apple that he has finally picked and smelled under his
feet?
Oh my friend, O one and only friend,
what black clouds awaited the day of the suns feast.
It was as if it was on a path of flight visualization that one day the bird appeared,
as if they were from the green lines of the imagination
, those fresh leaves that breathed in the lust of the breeze,
as if
the purple flame that burned in the pure mind of the windows
was nothing but an innocent idea of a lamp.
The
wind is blowing in the alley,
this is the beginning of destruction,
that day when your hands were destroyed, the wind was blowing,
dear stars,
dear cardboard stars
, when lies are blowing in the sky,
how can one take refuge in the chapters of the broken prophets?
We meet like thousands and thousands of years old, and then the
sun will judge the decay of our corpses, I
am cold,
I am cold, and it is as if I will never be warm,
O friend, the only friend, "How old was that wine?"
Look at
the weight of time here
, and how the fish chew my flesh,
why do you keep me at the bottom of the sea all the time?
I am cold and I hate oyster earrings
, I am cold and I know
that out of all the red illusions of a wild anemone
there will be nothing left but a few drops of blood.
I will
abandon the lines, and I will also abandon the counting of numbers
, and I will take refuge through the geometric shapes limited
to the sensory areas of vastness,
I am naked, I am naked, my naked, like the
silences between the words of love, my nakedness,
and my wounds are all of love
, of love, of love.
I
have traversed this wandering island through the ocean revolution
and the explosion of the mountain
, and the dismemberment was the secret of that united exist
