the moon is blue tonight, the wind is freezing
the friver is restless, and i have stopped breathing
an upside down swordfish pierced my parachute
fireflies flicker and it makes you want to hide your eyes
i breathe out gently right before my own death
exhaling the mist of a three quarter tone breath
like a pyramid of heartbeats everything is fainting
like the windless delicacy of the air in chinese paintings
i inhale the ashes of past deaths and dust
from butterflies wings and particles of rust
my eyes become gemstones, forgetting the fears
for glittering merely, not the shedding of tears
sleep recites the psalm of the damned.
no need to watch the flame of my life in the palm of my hand
as pale as the holy ghost, speaking many languages
no one knows the secret, no enemy vanquishes
the dream will watch over it, as i lie broken
no need to remain with eyes wide open
the pulp of roots and mile of cactus eases my pains
the quick silver drippings of the trees in my veins
a mattress of moss, candles in my branches
carried by the wind, buried by avalanches.
everything proceeds in slow motion under here.
no wonder. this is the sleep of one hundred years.