Incoherence

Never upon a time










over a godless region whose name I don't want to remember, two apparitions there were.

He cried to a hallucinatory moon, a little blood, a little bark.

She moaned to the distance and her inner phantoms, aquatic, mulier.










And how the infirm tale continues?




Over the treeless extension narcotized by dandelions-periscope

[where the Sun of Love stopped shining long ago]

an atmosphere of heavenly smoke and rare Chernobyls

welcomes a sol carried by furies

as the short day passes by

and the hydrant night re-emerges

over the sterile pays.







Over her aquatic cryings, over his distant phasm.


[If you read between the lines.]












Because the paralyzed milk of Cygnus cursed this stage of porcelain long ago

the athletic luminance of Atalanta, that brown thunder!







But despite all this, in a strange planetal paradox, the God of Love / Love God still floats over that pampa, caressed by isosceles feather of querubín.


[and do you read in Heaven, naked?]











Her bloody moans will call him till this land -conjured by thaumaturgy- have a little mercy.