The signal has not dismantled the promise
from her finger and her eye kiss lunars of the earth.
But I should be untrue to science, smothering among its boneless chalk architectures.
So let us attempt to divulge a story without grammatic redundancies.
In the face of so many depths to functionality.
The vagabond imposes nessescity.
So the angelic happiness lives on in a apple, the starry house of the wave, the cleansed silence that is profound and real.
Draw from it the hairy technique of its own sequence.
For a day, maybe too many to count, I rested under a pillow of fog
at a post office, waiting for the son to be outside.
Draw from it the silent image of its own production.
Exiled pigeon holes and inevitable evils.
Divulge on the lards that wait for you trembling the hated chairs, replacing the doors.
For a day, maybe thousand, I rested under a blade of grass
at a office cubicle, waiting for the pioneer to be within.
A circle inside a line segment, the lonely workings of balanced law.
The hairy peacock blossoms under the wonderful salts.
I want you to relax on my eyeballs.
They impaled it with inevitable faucets.
Lonely roads of a insatiable bicycle traveling outside the universe inside a ghostly raft, wide as a tremulous scorpion.
A breakfast -like pigeon hole what we say trusts to preserve some other woman what a detail may teach.
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