Etikett: poesi

A saliva-covered world down the gluttonous clouds of undressed thoughts in thirsting morals is hatching the orphaned syllables of craving realities from the custom morals in human space.

Great dancing governments are eating unrestrained piled-up diabolical marmalade on monuments like crocodiles after a sublime time of regular pleasure in the great anything of ruthless domestics.

Like phosphorescent footsteps, daytime figures appearing onto my twilight sky in close company chasing the streets of ruined moments when the train of my fantasy breathes like rivers of waiting wonders.

All gently diving tears dissolves the dreamers of their mosaic speculum of touch behind the seductive dressed variability of human eyelids when littered with the elements of nations like boiling milk.

To be the inaudible world in you that darkness corners against that wicked and infinitely written time between the offered words and the laboriously followings of each small day.
Its what my inner language meet at my outer limit.

Transference as forms interpret that arbitrary work into myself as all objects call my will and consume the blind life of neolithic chance in starlight repetitions to my inner songs of dreaming.

My exhausted little branches of above turns the windy alphabet to mondays definitions with the tentacles of a woman selling old daylight covered with the horses of my black emits.
In a sense it is the biological written blossoming spell of light.
It is also the echo of the still to come.

Frozen beyond the never be and the audible conscience in forms of the place with no whether.
Of earth in this blind white beauty.
I will always pray to its shadow.

Like an inside iconceivable recording by the architect of my appearance to cosmic reality, it begins in the exterior of psychic lightning.
Our hatred makes it clairvoyant.

We wear words like mud in cages of saliva and parachutes our heads of in planted wounds.

Our armor of far away harps in charming prisons surprises our forged tongues with wicked shrieks in deserted black gondolas as we withdraw ourselves as yawning lights.
But our hearts humming eye hunts the she fruit while we are watching the dice hurt the unseeing logos when the forever speaks of the infinite as our nocturnal debris.
Its like having an amphorae filled with stopped clocks and threats, insults, and desperate pleas of love by an erratic hand inside you.

Sculpted reason once painted have a lustrous entrance to the art of mirrors.

My drifting roots about the polar navel heavens grinding recreation, is my animated mid-air childhood temple i find abandoned behind the corner of my eye.

My ancestor moments is decorated inside me like tabloid people of electric somersaults occasionally reciting the dead as hungry graveyards.
Their romantic bones is sparkling of time with wild teeths in old dreams smelling of Columbus in broad daylight.
It is the dark split of my everyday vertical thought they left in my ceiling pockets.

I am folding the air like the umbrellas of morning roses dropping my thoughts in the soft end of the naked last sun.
I can see it in the heart of the machinery of faces.
And in its former realities where death sometimes flowers the voices from ants.

Moons of dressed echoes using the morning tongue and opens all endless hours in me.
Their mouth adds the knitted remains of a childs certainty by a dreary trade inside my garden of given passes.
Its a dark concert of tears with a little grain of life to it.

The senses materializes my dreams like singing paintings of frozen time beyond the pathos of notes.
They are my earthly audible fairy tree with a conscience.
A compass for my tongue and navel.

The ballad of twilight centuries sunlit blood passing our buzzing middle worlds mortal route blazing on enchanted hearts in an odour of ambition facing the landscape being of a hundred grandfathers.

We are pierced by milk like servants of furrows.
Cadaverous psalms leave our bodies undressed as pickled societies armored with the appearances of bloodhound continents.
Bad sirens orbits our goods as we unbutton the sleep.

This constantly and furious nostalgias of cracked rags bursting into the dressed colors of soundproof symmetrical voices.
Its like the distant gossip of dead stars.
Of words and saliva from the of drawers of clouds, barking.

Our cities feeds on the streets desires to harvest the patterns of my plundered pillow.

Particle patristics located by an indescribable Hercules is painting my unconscious descendents of spectacularly loud angels while devouring constellations like cannibals praying to a rosy hell in an eyelid glimpse of mosaic time.

Our tongues sits in a sky celibacy as the creation push the neckties peacock-style towers of primeval space-seed, chalked on a white wall with mummified navels magnified.
We cannot receive the wings of a larger yellow to page beyond the sense of a sculptured euphoria there.
Its like being in genesis of a backstage universe.

Electric marmalade filled with zeppelins arriving on the garden of stars like heavy elephants.

In the dictionary of the white wind, asphalt offers the invincible light.
Its living in divine bellies.
And in a dawn of childrens past antireasonable ponds.

Never flowers the space in its weightlessly clotted grow.
Like any whirling memory of a grape it may turn its geometrical dreaming into echoes as a mute radiant tale.
Its like I am pasted into it by the absolute.

Leaves of a decorated chorus on the ballet of symmetrical life is wearing the castled universe of a dressed horizontal renaissance.
It will always rearrange it’s grotesque presumptuous vanity.

Painted currents nourishing the ruins of clawed artificial shapes like human skin from loud continents.

To prove nature we assign the volume of published generals modeled to fit our senses as a thing in titles by wearing organs of the past.
We sculpture and scratch time in each tormented stone and breeding lunar like hyphens in air.

Like decorated scarecrows a single flower will understand a mirrored lie replaced by servants knees on years of harnessed lightning.
Am I the butterfly to the sphinxes celibacy by being push and bones and instantly discharge the sky´s creation.
My lips can fold all articulated years and turn your flesh dry.

Strange small conditions inside this city running in red with giants when we touch the yellow clearing of our bodies breathing the pilgrimage of pictures to understand the feedings of tomorrow mornings.

All our needs challenges the hypnotized balances formation of any submarine calculations because the moment rules its right like navel images whispers its control to the appearance of a word-replacing cellular opposite.

The horror of my battering a thousand mazes rolling me from age to age on a cursed instrument made of our gutters in the sky.

I have a black look
A mask
I have placed like a machine working from the universe in

Another suburban white silent pavement watching a passed seductive dream crowning the chimneys darkness from their illuminated solitude like singing kettles in an ever-present torment of time.

Hope always become my flesh’s reason of earthly senses, living in the dream between the coolness of forever and the innocense of all despair.

I harvest a sky over a wall of faces.

The vivid atmosphere of my landscape is dressed in an hour of a beautiful past flashing through the clothes of a dancing presence.

These feminine mirrors that owns the seasons of myself.
They are the first that covers my heart.
Like an instant key, a reflection in the eyes of a good second.
It is where I voyage.

I have found words that devours the alphabet of wounded flesh.

Where crossings pass the decorated hearts of naked blasphemies, our tears pride a thousand forests.
All curses returns this faun of fingers repeated to the tearful light of a lost mingling.
It is a madness like a carnival of glaciers.
A gasping echo of an unknown wasteland.

The corresponding remains we suffer of recovered galleries and their diversions.
Of that at the before us, wherein we suppresses the world.
It is a place of alteration.

The feets of the infinite is thickening
A closing dark drownings of my thoughts in moments that glows for any adored memory as they summon my passed you.
I remember me and this sweetness, it curles around the rose-coloured ashes.

I am the unclear loneliness and bare dizziness of a higher wish beyond the silent light’s travelling above the my itself of you beyond the trees.
It is what i have made from the rarest evening land i decorate as shadows gently fall.

It is the coming of this skins originators.
And all the birds of inner balance will fly out like a will of houses breaking into new giant empties with the find of an old morning.
Only my drill within is wearing my company.

The sky freeways are spaced carnivorous scenes painted on the page of groaning windmills with secret graffiti speaking of timeless temples.

In the before i have whispered from a child-breath underground while the sidewalk rules where fashioned with yesterdays eyes.
Its like miracle confetti for your mind, and old monuments becomes your tongue.

I found a strong arrived seeing as away at everywhere watching them all still circulating like in a middle remain it is too late for me to turn to.
That wheel don’t size my were.

In clutter verse of your silver praise the bright cold cries of the divided black custom made paradise suffers.
Face it, you are a convert.
A pilgrim.

In here my visions traces one another with flocks of morality were the unreal earth forms the paths by feeding on clouded dreams among those first feelings that were born with me.