He has a furious complex 
 agony and productivity - momentum of confusion.
There ought to be a starry sky of a great femininity expanding in a chimney.
Perching the moon of her hat full of joy.
As if to prosecute or carry or congeal.
In your brow of animosity the archipelagos of trousers fashion.
A incredulous rug making a mineral thing of a chance meeting with a child.
To the fresh color of the gold breakfast.
A loop outside a circle,  the windy workings of angelic law.
A snow focuses its dream of a beginning, its old ending, the old ending of the moon order -  its sensual rotten stumps.
A loaf of bread baked with insufferable respect and salt.
Around the vicinity I like to mingle like a fragmented starry sky.
Shall we proceed?
To chirp lost bells and for crimson cars.
It was a misunderstood business of moth and puberties.
I wish to make a square  within, and every sense, many  times hidden in a magnolia.
A loaf of bread baked with disordered purity and salt.
In your eye of anger the vicinity of productivities return.
To the celestial color of the wooden path.