Where It Does Carries The Transit Of Lost Life? Poem by Alexandro Johns

The cloud of time covers the horizon.
It's me, I come at the end without eyes
as the condemned Oedipus
and I yearning the shelter of the atheistic monks
who have no history and live in the road.

I have crossed in seconds sexual territories
- small logos hidden by gods -
So now, I am hanging in days like over an assembly line
where it finishes both the product and life
while I listening to silence and I see in white.

What I write are leaves and fruits with no time,
but my memories shall return to the tree of blankness
when I will cross the lonely thought