- Author: Adam Floyd Mar 10, 2018,
Mar 10, 2018, 6:22
To the smelly dead that has left the war between the poets and their muses.
Do you see how to hang in the plaza dogal,
from the first and rounded pacifists,
to the last unbelieving son of a bitch?
You see, with the blood running, in front of you,
for your angelic psalms,
Or in the overture of your key?
Look how to arm yourself with drunk ink,
of alienated brushes,
of breasts altered by songs,
of small flowers,
that will defoliate your sighs,
as a small group of diamonds! Tears crawl, walk, run.
As turned stone veins
that change the course of wine glasses,
The giraffe spots have a nimbus shape,
approaching by the back, to this cabin in the river.
To the abracadabrantes lovers of love
and other garbage feasts, with worse taste but with better destiny.
Do not fall into your network of saliva, the traces you can call "The Future."
In his hand tie, in his clown fight,
no hidden truth,
no heliographic chart,
leave naked and slope of the stars.
Disgusting branches without feathers,
musical aplopejías, crooked ruins of vertebral verses.
That yes! It is very likely that you would see it
and you will never see it with a single silk cord
and you would think that this is the most beautiful of the arts. Yes! For a moment you thought it sounded "I Giorni."
You may have been blind
or it might be in the afternoon.
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Of none of the dwellings fruits of the chest.
Of the unimaginable palaces of his dirty front.
A crepe has painted a blonde!
Who touches now, nothing more than for dreams,
With a flaming butterfly
perched on the laughing lines of his mind?
He? "The After Rock"?
He was truly the first to turn around
and in lowering his feet to heights.
I think what sounds is a fortuitous
and half-open music box.
The anal intruder, mature promise,
the first unconscious kiss
on a night detailed by the figures.
The talent of biting with piano teeth
and leave, without help of the hands, the cricket wings,
The mouth of the pebble,
The bank, made of wood of trees that did not want to die,
burned, for not being able to read well between times:
The possibility of a dagger in the side,
the assistible risk of our arms,
the lightness of the parts, clear, distinct,
Floating in so opaque and distant puddle.
Eh bank set aside and bruised!
They came from the universe, p> of the possible resale of a concert of The Secrets
of the contest of quotations that have not yet begun.
The frog and toad hunter, caught by tadpoles.
"It was another element, love, in which I had not thought"
Princes rescued by princesses
who come following their own braid
From a distant reminder unleashed,
And they sing, to the delight of them,
-Dimas P.L.- Also known as "D"