Prayer In The Sun

I am naive when facing the sun.

I lay down

and I pour the ocean(whole)

into a hole in the sand.

I know the wind is blowing but

happiness is beyond missing.

Please, leave and make things easier.

Leave, don't do it for the sake of the blues but

do it for yourself

or myself selfless gone and lost and buried and left astray empty-handed

heavy-handed

I hear a saint striving to utter the following words, behind his turbant:

"The air is beautiful."

The words are vague, easily unclean and flow directly into the thorns.

I had (or have) much to offer.

Do you care?

Fair enough.

I am a waste,

I run sadly,

I am blocking the sun with a finger.

Wading Through Harlow's Wilderness, I Forgot The Words As Soon As I Wrote Them

I forgot the words as soon as I wrote them.

"Odette I have discovered within you a rose."

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I remember Harlow was long overdue behind cathedrals.

He who really was a sailor back then through wonders.

I have tried to remember.

The white soul of Oswald slipped from the hands of the heavens.

A firmament but, some say a lament.

What did she say to you

that made you crawl through the cliffs?

(Across the cliffs)

At the very heart of the bone of the whale.

She said:
"I exceed your expectations, every one of them."

But I remember she really whispered:
"I refuse to let you calculate your future."

Here we are, all of us.

Defeated.

yet Hooked,

beneath a nuclear sun.

I forgot the words as soon as I wrote them.

Sinful Shepherd

It makes a difference,
maybe it is myself but

the words are made of

roses,

are they made of ashes (rather)?

that, a blunt stab into Solomon's darkness

being raw the flesh and cold the river.

I let him.

I let him wear me out

as a shepherd with the body and the oil

and the face, holy.

Which is the sky that rains?

I am in denial through the doom

it is "we" that I want.

Two neglected sons,

up in the mount.

I have bathed in the river,

seven times eleven times and I'm sinful and I'm wading.

And I love you again,

I love you immensely past ancient book(s)

past silver skies

past the green pastures of soulful RIGHTEOUSNESS
in

FI

GU

RA

TI

VE

love,

spoken love.

Forever I dwell inside of you,

on Minerva's Garden my cup overflows

A solemn shadown,

an absurd shadow,

an open branch.

I do not know who I am.

I kiss your memory through fifty seven centuries,

careful arms, again wading.

Ambigous shepherd I will become.

Firenze

Vanilla dust scrapes the creamy surface.

I guess I'm still searching,

above thousands, white-headed.

The land oils the hands that work the harvest under a heavy sun,

but the eagle sets off.

Barely elsewhere.

On-his-own.

Do I find you here?

I am stirring the sun.

I AM STIRRING THE SUN.

I AM STIRRING THE SUN.

I blend

with a

gloomy

sun.

What is a human?

When is enough?

I am stirring the sun.

Heart-stirring the sun.

Perhaps it is me the one I should find first.

The yellow of the sun,

not to be confused with betrayal: the eagle bursted. (off).

A breeze stirred the leaves.

I can't help but wonder...

Somehow elsewhere I might find me.

What is that, I don't know.

What do I feel

Sun, I didn't feel.

A dull leaf that stirred with the wind got lost and flew,

from beginning to end

above white-headed

calves down

Treasures inland...

The knees fell as the sword hit the ground.

Sadness inland, the kingdom I thought I could call my own vanished.

I am scared and lonely.

Constanza Midnight (Part One)

1. The boy is not a man in the desert.

Darkness is not to be confused with evil.

He that is sinful amongst ourselves, let him first CAST A STONE in the middle

of a raining Black Hole.

Science drew a triangle and answers were achieved.

Constanza Midnight (Part Two)

2. Those who cast the stone definitely increased possibilities of being hunted (or aroused)

Is the question that drew from the answer a crucial question per se?

The love that is carried away through blossoms and brightness truly drowns the Wintergreen that spread like wildfire around the Garden.

Persephone stood up and smiled: "Let's not return to the Garden."

Let us not indeed.

A sudden awake from reality drives me and pulls me down-to-earth, up-to-the-toe

and I am getting close to finding an answer.

Constanza Midnight (Part Three)

3. A variegated revelation:

It is not Midnight when the sea is aligned with the Pendulum at the turn of the Century.

Leave the petals astray.

Men astray in Constanza Midnight.

Darkness is not to be confused with evil.

The space is withdrawn within its Black Hole. Science-Fiction at its best and I have not been the same ever since.

Brain? Fried. Demented.

The revolution begins at the Nectar of love that is

allegedly found at The Photon Band.