Thursday, January 28, 2016
Your cloth, your evening and the way you
Die, are some wildnesses of the wilderness.
Admire it, so singing earth is blossoming,
In orange flowers, sacred jokes and funny tiles.
You feel the cloth will run away from you,
My accountant dimly says the old world,
From you this year, from the outcome of story,
As unfolding words are like numbers.
Let me swear a road to the outer world,
I correspond with an outer man of delay,
His cloth will dissipate, the evenings will shine
With cloudless skies, living like lemons.
Topic(s) of this poem: clothing