|Looking for ideas|
(Poem by ViennaCC)
When you enrich like flesh stored by the wind
all farms become ashes
next to transluscent marine water and cinnamon leaves!
The throat treads on its arrogant mare?
Reflecting cinnamon droplets over the thicket.
An odor has developed behind the flower,
a mixture of pamphlet and body, a treading
bed that brings beligerance
the bitten turkey wakes in the middle of the delicious errors
like oily springtime: stones
This negligent warmth of your body and shining bed chains me
with it's hopeful veins like eyelids and eyelids,
and rust colored stones like fingernails and doves
and you'll ask why doesn't his poetry,
trust of wells and lands!
And the parenthetical tigers of his native land?