cilanco I hit the bottom of my life
and licked the tip of my finger mop
in cilanco wide as a lake
deep blue and cold.
is the eternal black hole
the light stops and time consuming.
Nobody knows why, why its light
but half asleep, half awake can work.
If we close our eyes and look to infinity
with powdered sugar white pupils,
sweetener after inhaled
like a rhinoceros
relentlessly onrushing
the wall of his days ...
God! Who knows where to stop? Who knows
how to stop? But there is no response.
rounding
glasses, grave of stunning mews,
grunts of hungry wolves,
pumas bellows fed
as mates warm tea when
promising a sleepless night revealed
and blessed are those who watch them go
without even looking.
took the whirligig and turned to the other side
to ensure that "everyone plays" out again.
And they all played happily
with racket and loud laughter
bouncing between marble walls
cold and wet, dark and wet again.
Masked by anger and rage, draws his
moist palm and sank in the seas of oblivion
corrugated cardboard and balsa
and alfalfa methane flag.
Image: Murakami
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