the land plunders the sky.

i destroyed the land officially, and
outer space is not the same.

i am the metal of declaration, of
modification and color.
i am the alchemy teacher of spiritual states,
the conductor and transformer of magics.

you saw under the hat of the conjurer,
of the blind person dependent upon
the mechanisms of life.

plural miracles are detailed and
you hide as a fowl.

it is not possible, the possibility of magics.

you inquire about the news,
close to standing in traffic with a sign board.

self-immolation prints on both sides of the paper.
--

so world worthy,
the instant is tasted,
that time of life and death.

this body is not you or your life.

it is possible to form
the meaning of sorrow,
a strange understanding of
outer space and this
humanity spectacle.

the magic of endorphins,
of remembering, of kissing
eagerly, is forgotten.

today there is a nerve of insanity in me,
a warped guide to the world;
the small amount which leaves is a truth.

i am crossing the town of rain,
in an ill-humored youth,
an unlucky stage of moping.

but you feel the rain on my surfaces.
an improvement from miserable numbness.

you are moved by me,
by my small eccentric life;
you think of scars.

you are a kind of music that makes words.
--

the snow falls
like incomprehensible creation.
it is attached as the air to my
suit of trembling.

i laugh, facing a certain dying.
i would like to walk in permanent snow.
i am still at the part where falling is best,
the part that possesses sleep
in the time of rest.