On drugs, smoking,
on fermented bottles...

My heart
grave and verdant...

Having no else present,
but that which makes all else visible...

I heard voices
in your silence...

Boundlessly tossing into the ocean,
gathering jewels from the muddled...

Worn and woven,
this face he paints...

You're made of seeds, of soil and stone,
you're of life, of flowers- from flesh to bone...

I'm on the verge of falling again
into the bottom of failing arms...

It might be the poignant words
which I've not been waiting for...

Kneel for the patience of this challenger
for I lasted nights and days in your hell...

I ask of you to wipe my tears
with a last lecture you give me...

When a long novel
is signed in misfortune...