BORN IN THE STONE

So ready to disappear
I was
so featherweight
and apologize to the skin
with every dust of air
for undue occupation,
so impressed by the transparency
I was
to make glass
tersissimo
to dazzling mornings
and smell of wave
between propped bodies.
So strictly useless
the soul
my
to keep it green next to it
in the long course of the so-called
dating
without any unhinging
of speech.
"Then? Then?"
Then
I slipped out
in hard peel
world skin,
I make a silence
on evil,
a cloak
of insolent beauty
terrestrial.
I cannot command
this flow
it is a great work
of clear yield
with a majestic current,
I am a word to the light
I was born.

FROZEN STAR

Dull star on the tip of an incandescent heartbeat.
Tears of sleep on the edge of your dissolved head.
Liquid glass prisoner of the sins of wax.
Immobile and insane.
Paralyzed by negative outcomes.
Interior.
Memories of homes lived in.
Dusty fingers.
Fingers of disappointed child.
Your kingdom smells like summer jasmine paradise.
Your kingdom is the childhood past.
Postcards and postage stamps detached.
You are the master of lost words.
The pocellana of each of your inner places has the wounds of angels.
The skies are the result of a farewell to the horizons. Interior. Returns.
Crumbled taxes.
Magical soups.
The dead zone of the darkened mind.
Alcoholic dementia.
Forget the years.
The schools.
Mental calculations.
You have filtered out every music of your pain.
Violins sing under your bed.
The removed dust settles again.
The fingertips leave fingerprints.
Loose and redone glasses.
Stained glass windows and unlit prayers.
If you wait for the fire, you become ashes.

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