четверг, 4 августа 2011 г.

About trees and the blindness


Did anyone ever happen
to tear off the butterfly's wings,
going through the fall?

The empty wood inside the half-asleep fish.

All the trees are mad.
I feel myself in safety beside them.
They open an etrance into the street lamp's holes for me.

I gulp trees.

Today I put the dead earth on.
I cut off my face
to hide the cracks.

The crickets go out
when the Moon cries.

it's dark.

Having choked with the branches,
I lost my sight.

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