To the beach tired of sand,to the priest who sells siding,
to belief advertised,
the clock sings all day.
.
Parchments of the last ones
grieved in bitter portions
of the purple robe.
.
Is galaxy constant fire?
if the wounded could
be a passion burning,
for its heat is more desire
.
I fell on the tide
as the moon was a crypt
of an old French addict
stoned in a chair by the fire.
.
His scatalogical term
blew the sigh of God
all to suffer the
despot by the coals.
































