untitled No. 6

There is a river,

in the other side of the sky,

a river of chrome,

mountains too,

mountains of children’s bones.

Music of broken pianos resound in the air.

The atmosphere is divine.

There is a house never habitated.

Inside the house

recent borned dreams cry.

The cry like the song of silver birds.

Death all over the place,

death and burned destinies.

The tears of every person reincarnate  there

like a tree of rotten fruits.

Beauty walk in this earth.

Beauty personified as living air.

Deep in the river there is a fallen star.

That fallen star gave life to the place.

There is no goodness,

nor badness,

nor dirtiness

in this world.

Everything breath perfection.

In the night,

living fire dance in the sky.

Poems never written read themselves in caves

illuminated by memories of never exhisted kings.

There is a mirror in the center of this place.

This mirror show beautiful nightmares of unborn cats.

Everything seems alive,

in the form of life that only death can give.

Everything is perfect.

There isn’t a world purest than this one.

2 thoughts on “untitled No. 6

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