Canal de. dérivation (by F.w.)
The approximation came from a estrangement
at the horizon. The approximation with air,
salt, raw emotion and fragrant life cons
the mass of questions. All starts
at the end. In the middle, the presence is slow
while the rest, atoms, microbes,
cells moving like translucent eels.
We believe return. The voices are filled
Wth slope of the air, migratory its float for a moment
believing wrap the derivation of things sometimes.
These thousands scales of madness filled by the wind
and light peels. Duration, the neutral line.
The truth stands at the end of a palm that opens
the unity of its wing. To nothingness. Dust, breathing,
consciousness is drowning. A year, multitudes
hours and second sequential pulsing
their insect legs endlessly. Somewhere
the effusion of the sea. The music of floods contracts space
on this moving table the soul slips by trampling masks
snatching the effervescent blueness that spits.
Thus began the seaweed, seagulls, the silence and the bloods.
What shudders, it is the bare skin of the mind.
Since morning inside, the calm of the sky has issued sea.
The sudden dilemma. Slapped by the wind, ease