понедельник, 30 января 2012 г.

I play with mint fingers from crumpled music.

I play with mint fingers from crumpled music.
Sounds apart.

The keys are impregnated with a cold sweat.

  I break my fingers. Through.
  The pitch.

  Snow mixed with a cotton candy.
  Sticks to the pupils.

 Cautious exhalation. Breath. Fermata.

 eyelashes-bows cut the dawn to the colorful ribbons.

It is so good ..
I better put the smile into the fridge.
So it will not sour.

And I'll set an alarm clock for my thoughts. Or for the nuts in muesli.
It doesn't matter. It's so chaotically in the morning.

Feet hysterically paw over the prickly parquet.
Because of the sadness nails are hiding in the bones.

  Today my guests are the fallen leaves.
  We'll play croquet with timber clubs.

  Then we gonna sit down on the crowns-cushions
  and arrange the sun drinking.

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