I have closed my eyes.
In a mouthful of wine
the afternoons like throngs of mice
running hungry and wild down the gullet of
my absent body.
I taste in a nook of wine
oblivion- as a room
where existence breeds
in orgies of secret (and sweet)
mechanisms and laws.
It is all there with bubbles and stain.
My eyes are shut.
The coasts of my routine
full of drunk mist…
the departure – a breath – as a gust
of feeble constellations.
Abrasive but fleeting.
Like the burn of a glimpse of sun.
My eyes are melting in black wine
while I drag the contours
of the untouchable world
into the invisibility of my sleep.