.
The court is high end and no borders.
sensitive to random variations in the cloud or fire,
records every stroke that falls on the territories of destination insomniacs.
In one night outside the other end, the license to blame,
drawing my own writing career, fatal, the blind witness. Setbacks and progress
, dips and flights, suspended and falls
up that text which is tied and unties illation with hesitation,
is concealed with caution yaw and foot on glass,
stops and is lost with every driver dreams jolt.
And what will be the total effect, which slips away as the beast of the trap and sets
die from weed dark skin leaving
or flight without stopping by the whites of the crossroads, inward maze?
accusation or allegation, I fail to interpret the intentions of the elusive message. Hard
reading from here, where I violated the law and the instrument, where rights and wrongs
spread like a ripple, a vice
language or disciplined maneuvers of a plague,
and change the color of my syllabus in and forth ago.
But there is someone who does not confuse ignorance
someone who reads even under the deletions and the dismemberment of my calligraphy
while filtering the sun and the sea sparkles between two lines. Print
blood is my confession, sealed with ash.
.
sensitive to random variations in the cloud or fire,
records every stroke that falls on the territories of destination insomniacs.
In one night outside the other end, the license to blame,
drawing my own writing career, fatal, the blind witness. Setbacks and progress
, dips and flights, suspended and falls
up that text which is tied and unties illation with hesitation,
is concealed with caution yaw and foot on glass,
stops and is lost with every driver dreams jolt.
And what will be the total effect, which slips away as the beast of the trap and sets
die from weed dark skin leaving
or flight without stopping by the whites of the crossroads, inward maze?
accusation or allegation, I fail to interpret the intentions of the elusive message. Hard
reading from here, where I violated the law and the instrument, where rights and wrongs
spread like a ripple, a vice
language or disciplined maneuvers of a plague,
and change the color of my syllabus in and forth ago.
But there is someone who does not confuse ignorance
someone who reads even under the deletions and the dismemberment of my calligraphy
while filtering the sun and the sea sparkles between two lines. Print
blood is my confession, sealed with ash.
.
.
No. 16, the night drifting (1984)
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