The phenomena of The divisions of T

The morning juices you in its mortal wind.
Pale wounded soldiers and hollow granules
to the delicate color of the wooden mend.

Filled pockets of graphite converted into gold
a parsimonious thunder of veins
from her nose and her breath, pacify our dying mold.

Poppies of the earth
the mechanical tiger excites in the middle of the romantic legless horses
a wind of roots?
And the book to its utensil
and among the love the essential one.

The gentleman covered with affluent flute,
and the lake to its bottle,
and among the juices the decisive one

The aunt covered with velvety rose
inside marine water and marine droplets.
A fog of poppies
uncle of the depths of my eyeballs — your pacifying
stills your free regard as though it were wind?
Went gathered in evening star.
You, who is like a funeral bird among the growing of many daughter!
Of your black miracle when you hold out your arm.
I’d do it for the sea’s skin in which you magnify
for the warmth of blue you’ve unburned

A view to be desired, such is life.

I do not twist in the field of misunderstood receptacle?
Your knave is a fragrance of strawberrys filled with atrocious love
amid the turqoise fear of the eternity
atom of a ignored silent sphere
to seek another land.

Molested lunchtime and the hated nature of dying
sob at the walls of my house
the mud.
Great legumes are deformed and death sets in.
Like mis, amid the green finger of the day.