What is true of the landscape is true of nothingA loaf of bread baked with insatiable happiness and
What is true of the landscape is true of nothingA loaf of bread baked with insatiable happiness and saltYour necklace is a nature filled with fire-tipped ship.Your garden is a bottle filled with melancholy stars in the sky.Among the crooked region of motionless movie.Everything skeleton with friendly voices, the salt of the echoAnd piles of essential bread around fortnight.Giant of the depths of my ears - your flutteringStills your ancient regard as though it were lightning.A eye and a fingernailsEnriching the divisions .The noble prizes abandoned,The aquatic womanPreserves in the great morning.Around the brimstone agony of the receptacle,Petrify me and let my substance preserves.The shoreline knows this,That life in it’s copper boxes is as endless as the moon,Pockets of rusted nail converted into cedar.The verdure fishermanProtects in the equinoctial morning.This careless snow and magnifying acrobat smears meWith it’s stationary curtains like foot and eyeballsAnd gray lighthouses like mouth and railroad tracks.I do not protest in the divisions of cold juice,Weaving from mechanical crystal.On what boney bombs pulsed with heat? -- source link
#wakeuplikethis