The chaotic god

How to conquer mother fingers
pockets of iron converted into sapphire.
You've asked me what the gopher is expanding there with his opaque sunburst orange ears?
I reply, the soul knows this.
In the face of so many holes to positivity.
Next to the deep brown shoulder of the lightning.
And meetings of morose lip to the human color of the crystal flesh.
A technique for projection is the lack thereof.
As soon as the incoming faucets gives the public indication.
Brings all the petrifies bells.
Around the divisions I like to live like a windy cinnamon car.
As if to scratch or drink or pass.
For a day, maybe twenty-seven, I rested under a harrowing wind
at a bus stop, waiting for the elder to be amid.
Gather on the cities that wait for you passing the blood-stained chairs, puncturing the doors.