This is a demolition, I was being spit out.
Under the flickering moonlight stands the stowaway.
He resembles a resurrection, I see him.
The moon is my eclipse, pressed in front of me.
Then it shuts my eyes for nothing at all.
An exact shadow is colder.
I run to fast in the trap.
Is turning in and out of my thoughts.
I let vanish the setting up of stars.
The silence will flinch the air together.
My skin is full of hydrogen signs.
A fountain of earthly water uplifts.
I rotate dumbly, very hot.
Red, broken light is what I can give.
Planets court me permanently.
My arms are protuberances.
They are coming back, they won’t leave me.
I must burn to create something new.
The children at the junction.
An army of cells and sickle-shaped, an arrival of life.
Something small looks up to me; I am a God to it.
Out of a bastardy world.
I plant oxygen in your garden.
It is unstable in its kind, unique.
Golden by full moon, my food
Is deadly and isolated.
A golden orphan is my separation.
I am the beginning, an estuary of an indisputable river.
I will be the end.
A monition of gas, I am the center,
In a black-chromium home sea.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Simone Goertz.
Published on e-Stories.org on 12/06/2020.