The family of wolves,
The family of snakes.
A large yacht, christened the “Oyster Yellow”. A brownish sky filled with viole(n)t voices from a foggy past.
Undecipherable, yet precise.
Parallel to the idea of death,
soft and wide as shadows.
Take back your book of lies, take back your poisoned skies (I never asked you for anything). A hasty formation of knowledge in rhythm with that liquor that pumps through your veins. I still have my father’s heart. A great blinding son, a question of responsibility that seems impossible to distinguish from an overhead silence broken like a child’s favorite toy. A collective fight, a will to power. The accepted construction of deplorable aspirations. A fever drenched in sweat and urine. Forever just a bolt of lightning with no preceding thunder. A sky split open, large and gray, by a burst of electricity, the splinters of science.
The ambiguous words crawl on for hours, in complete disregard of their simplicity. They hold my hand and my mind in contempt.
Meanwhile the ambiguous crab sprawls across my floor, belly laughing like a secret superimposed over an infant.
p.s., I wrote about you today.
