I have dreamt of
all the empty drying hairs
of the hanging towel

and then
sat by the gloom
resting on the every sip
of an infinite bubble of beer

whatever was foreign
came inside like pain
we then embraced
as wings made of feathers

the sun has sunk into structure
like an invisible tunnel
coiling around the sound
that a pair of lips dropped

and there is the mystery
of the tint at the edge of wide
nature softening like warm snow
at the shore of a blue eye

suddenly the windows
open like a mouth
and the smell of memory
leaves the room
like rustling from the hearth

there by the color
that was so wide as morning
an absurd hand fell
perturbing the surface
of black immensity

that earth consumes motion
adopted pale mirrors of battles
so it shines like a monument
of groans and poetry

a parcel of blood
has trembled
an ocean of thought
has become short as grass

somehow light
escaped as a carefree crystal
by evening a kiss
has woven a vowel of skin

there
the glaciers of feelings
have a glow and a vision
nearly as beautiful as a face

awake
by the rivers of factories
a century of quantity
because the comedy
transcends the dome

cities, reasons, gulfs
clusters sojourning
in the young greenery
of the storm

soon the saint
will hunt a harmony
the criminal
a wooden blue

I have a sin
a confession as hard as tooth
the shoulders carry
the burden of meaning

an immediate august tear
as calm as knowledge
sunburnt women
naked as cherry trees

somehow we sleep
the branches at an angle
mixing with the mute heroism
of a dancing future

all is ending
when all history is drifting
a virgin parabola
turns into gold

be what it is
the night of god
a tree of nothing
all imageless damage

heaven obscured the woman
that laughed in my hidden eternity
the drunken driftwood
has floated into seasons

when the wall is wet
and the sky feels like a bed
a nostril or a breast of love
our struggle ends in a shadow