:::

 

Your rifle is a shadow of itself

it went with the mushrooms

you couldn't guard

because your dog was sick with laughter

then see how your dog becomes deaf

from the fullness of the universe

you yourself see the sea coming

out of the quiet garden of your eyes

such a quiet cry through all the walls

your hood is an egg of the evening prayer of crying.

 

Of course the seagulls are seven pillars of your soul

you all must scream your indistinctness

no one can hit a UFO

because it is made of God's wings of fire.