The words were flowing….colliding….snapping
My erupt from the fountain of sorrow
The closed door….the few hard verses
The first surprising fountain……the smell of paint…the lilting of the rhythm
...
This open sky of my pictures
And no one look
This crowd dancing in the festival of my pictures
And no one look
...
There, ….. there is no sea, there is no blue
There is no wood in the foundations of the subject of the docks
...
Magician
who is breaking this arch of the blossoming sleepy under the eyelids?
Who is breaking in of this dream.... Rose.... And flooding on the shores of most sad longing and suffering and hardship......! !
...
Memories
The river is spreading a memory made by mud and small stones
alluvium... palm leaves
...
My icon of sorrows is in front of me and the dead bodies of days are
behind me
This … the reader in the silences valleys of wisdom hymns
...
Behind the wall of alienation there is a sound raising with screaming brutal
Ringing the bell with loose rope in the waking memory and forgetful memory
Behind the alienations glass with whisper…..with tears this child heart will broken
Drowning in tears... In the words of stone... and the bitter cup
...
The time and the wave are roaring …….and the time
Extends as a coast of myth fog
As bodies of the cunning sessions
As the bodies of the days dumped onto orthogonal to the city and the sea
...
O Little Tramp.... my poor heart
festivals of cranky and the ego flying as a smoke In the multiple
...