Bubbles Of The Void

A land of love might be made,
perhaps, at another beginning, after finishing all this!
a land of: immaturity, lack of understanding, non-duty, immorality, non-gatherings, non-farewells, unconsciousness of death,
of not waking up on alarm clocks, swallowing the Caffeine, then panting, with dangling tongues, on the track.
A land of no laws, of the “none”
we call it a land of “No”, in dullness galaxy, for example
Imagine!!
Circles of children tangled their hands, walking around, laughing,
their hands lengthen just like orbits,
as if they were made of putty,
and between them, hands, the vacuum forms a planet,
by the exotically capability of astonishment, of the open imagination, of wild love that extends as an ocean,
The vacuum forms transparent planets have eyelids, we sleep when they close down, wake up when they open,
We live in bubbles, rotating in the orbits of space,
Do not touch each other, do not get close to some, do not speak, do not call, do not shoot, do not reproduction,
do not eat, do not drink, do not grow, do not argue, do not improve, do not believe, do not fear, do not hate,
do not love, do not get angry, do not calm, do nothing,
each one of us in his bubble, a stillness,
We share, only with looks, that sensual flow in each of us: ourselves
of the sun alone, and by it, we grow
Our colors are the green’s gradients,
never be yellow,
becomes dusky, with eyes open towards the others, when we die.

*(*

What, if rightness, was the only wrongness we commit in our lives?
or
without wrongness or rightness, we are,
each of us is a rightness for himself, by himself, and a fatal wrongness to others.

*)*

The stars did not grow up, the stars do not grow up, do not move, do not die,
their orbits are their selves, alone, steady,
and when their only movement is committed,
sorrowfully, we load them desires that we did not do, baskets full of remorse,
falsely call them “wishes”.

*(*

But I fell off my self’s cliff, once,
in a deep valley,
just tapered rocks its land,
carrying signs refer to many directions,
Many, were there, with rocky bodies
their faces features are arrows, indicating the passion that when they saw, they became rocks.

*)*

Reality is a human minefield, narrow, crowded, and isolated,
we have a map of most of its fuses, so we walk through.
Ourselves are unknown geographies, furnished with unreasonable and astonishment,
less isolation, more loneliness
we avoid them.

*(*

In the last trailer of the departure, we hammer down our upright hearts in the flesh of the door
and when we got out of our bodies,
waiting for us, there were alternative used hearts, do nothing but pulsing.

*)*

To leave somewhere, familiar,
not much different, than to be in it, except:
Our awareness of departure,
And the place awareness of the heat shortage inside it.

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