open sky

eruption

of the repressed. Those who know the words but not their relationship with the beach.

Illusion of the white cloud is true for you to be true and be fake and be blue and be open.

You. You cannot forget or erase the melody of your own shell. It signs the tune of sea salt down your skin.

Dried up, now will it crack or blend in?

Will you perform the paradox or will nature take the course for you?

Learn a new skill. To excavate. Sea-shells from the bottom of the sea.

The bottom of the sea, the bottom of the sea is closer to your legs you see.

The knife is handled by another to crack it open and what

What

What

what

and the music doesnt

and the language disjuncts the necessity of meaning

spelling the touch is possible when I am not writing.

you, you must live a simple life sometimes.

Some times the simple life is possible when the rest is possible.

And the meanings become entangled with lips and hair and hands.

The union brings about fragments of a deep break, one never wished

but not resisted, the union desired desired desired through a word

that will always lack not the size, but the openness of the want.

The want liberates, the want then restrains, the want liberates, the want restrains
and only through its repetition in moments can you realize its purpose.


There, there, here and here, where, where can I find you again?


No. I do not want to find you again. There, here, here where, there cannot

be exalted, the disjunction brings so much pleasure that it is not possible to know.


To really know the object of the object of desire.

Now, there is only my subjectivity undoing itself.