dream that mornings are no longer morning,
only vent to release me ,
ashes were already history ;
where they grew up without root words .
The reason !
Spread by the age of light ,
fell but not extinguished ,
freed itself of will and disturbed peace .
Now I'm unsure ,
what human power can do ..
Wince reflexively !
Without anxiety and without horror ;
do not want to get away from me without a fight
and without taking this pain ..
What is my condition to live ,
released me without being mutilated ..
'm dreaming !
With a virtual sea of oysters ,
that is confined ,
poisonous to my poetry and fret ,
this gunk world...
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