I forgot how sweet the malady was, it has dissipated in the morning sun, in everyday human relation, can’t you hear its droplets? A distinctive site.
Come hug me, wake me up to the time were the mountain was in my living room, give me back the ages were I saw a thriving ecology, in between concrete walls, in the brute.
There is no episode; all is a web caught in the tenders love of a woman, in the word net, fried in the open field, covered in corn leaf, and crucified with memory of black bethel.
I cried, when she said “I will never forget your walk, I noticed you in it; the ‘you’ that would have blinded that small town. Never thought courage could come to me dressed in a uniform, his head crowned by roses with its aphids from the angst garden. For this, I say I love you.”
I cried, in the authentic language of tears, only Nerval could understand.
Lazarus, be generous, give the phone to Nerval, I am trying to reconstruct the concrete poet, who would dream about a marriage, between an airless object and Christian woman, who cares about the dignity of representation as revealed in inn.
It rained, and my mask disapproved of it, for it couldn’t conquer hearts in a mist, it yearns for mid-day sun, with clear hand and mind it wants to give the ultimatum, to the child-god, a god who promises, a god who…
