The laugh calls you; it takes you by the hand and is lost in the dawn.

Saturday, March 5, 2016

The laugh calls you; it takes you by the hand and is lost in the dawn.  A voice cracks.  A friend forgets you, but is he a symbol of cleanliness and harmony?  The wheel was black; the magic pen that draws dreams in the aridity was left forgotten on top of the dresser.  Nothingness expresses itself, drinks coffee in the morning and raises its hand as if it wished to express that its morning pain is fresh.  The laugh dances, it looks at me with spiny eyes and sighs slowly, filling the silence with white sheets.  A broken parasol.  A shoeless sign that shouts your name.  A drunk bat running after dreams.  A route full of old men’s mysteries and gray smiles.  The night waits for me with its gray canvases.  The night doesn’t sing or even yawn white tears; perhaps they are mine.  OH night!  My hands are dark and warm, my verses old and rhymeless, my dreams sob at the shore of your goddess hands.  The night speaks to me; the night sings to me; the night weaves your face with seaweed.