The Eucharist is in the church.
All is well
The service may start.
It is a face that opens like a saint
Eyes and mouth speak slowly
Bring out the rotating alchemy behind the forehead
Brothers of the line, on this face
Beautifully painted with calm wisdom and motifs
It also has amazing colors given by God
Whose word could it be?
Actions are really good words
Actions and vice versa!”
“Words are the belly of action
Action is the grave of words.”
Words, really. All the words,
Everything written and to be.
Dust the precious marbles,
Open the weak papyrus and read it.
He taught us what the Greeks were
The wonderful alchemy of words did it.
Words, accents, breath marks, iota
Subtexts. How easily the meaning changed
With subtle twists and turns
Accents or breath marks. And taught us
Honesty won and lost
Such grammatical subtleties!
By training the foggy outline of the coast,
The marble lining took shape for us
Oh my friends! Pick up your trash and sharpen your elbows
Paddle! I know this shore well, I know it too
Just one more mile deep in the fog
There is a table!
Ah, the pole!
This gorgeous pole inspired us all to spend
In high-class company, slowly, socraically, is taking
All questions, sipping the wine of the Eucharist!
This high peak inspired us all!
What can students ask themselves?
The anchor weighs the mate! Take your worries to the paddle!
Will they keep coming?
Will the marble coast keep coming
Will be with men and women
Are the elegant minds still coming to offer Eucharist wine?
The work of the poet
Then your “poet” friend came
And before he left
Reveal his yellow silence
Over the burning logs of our fire
Like a pus in his heart
Like a snail crawling on a piece of art.
Isn’t that friend of yours a poet?
The phlegm in his eyes,
Eyes that die from malnutrition.
Check out our fireplace now!
See how that flame burns
The red flame that once warmed us
Wise, whose voice filled the whole house
And our eyes are alive
See what the once red heart looks like now
See how the yellows fade when you die?
No poet, that friend of yours!
A poet’s job is to make ashes
Heal and allow the burning and yellow eyes
Thrive in new places,
To show how I admire snails
He is not a poet,
He is your friend.
Where did he get his degree?
I will remove the soft band of Sleep
Tonight is for you.
You will find that jasmine is still there
White and it didn’t die of neglect.
On the contrary
It completely occupies the pergola.
Although there was Salome’s dance
My head is still there.
Besides, I am not a Baptist.
I’ll untie the soft bands of Sleep for you
Request for a portrait
Paper, pen and candle in one hand
Ass with flames
In the other
I came to praise him again.
The part about drowning! Like water
Let these waters stop their rapid flow, but
You, Muse of the Stars, carry on
Your Inspirational Song; now go back and say it
About the summer moon hovering over our bodies
And about the myrtle legends we collected
Help me write a portrait of this dead girl!
Her mother spins every day
The fate of people into his mouth,
He was a painter
Brazen whispered in the summer air, and done
The villagers look sideways at my steps.
Others tended to confirm me
Reading books, my short pen flight though
Overall agreement was balanced
Summer brightens it up
He and I should mingle as a couple
We were both
Ripe and ready to pick the exposed vitals of Life.
Thus the summer months, and hence the fragrant shrub
Myrtle on the hill, where we tore off our petals
Each other blossoms.