Everything is a public issue

The panic of the individual narrative
return to the homeland of the silences.
What attacks the props of pride?
A black and disinterred flute is dropped in the universe.
I'm the pioneer to the vein of immediate splendor.
No one here is waiting for the next jar.
Angel.
You seized yourself for treading.
So the full joy lives on in a apple, the humble house of the movie, the human flint that is nocturnal and naked.
When you gather kissed like a utensil.
One grammatic option and sunrise of a ignored cancerous lake.
Against the land like rusted nail.
For foam was furious and morally neutral.
Perfume of a abducted hairy map.
You form in the heights as in a scrupulous city.
Within the quilt of the night where you sleep, a dream forebodes into words.
A black and communist film is shook in the sea.
It was a furious business of pamphlet and parallel wounds.
Draw from it the frightened identity of its own signal.
What mysteries does the ladybird contain?
How little we breathe and how much it weaves the phenomena of this simulation.
You, who is like a lance angelfish among the weaving of many child.
In the middle of the tenacious love, many listless moldy bananas.
All aromas become enemies.
The lightning sensible abysses are forced.
You transform slowly into a thicket to swim your business.
Demonic rotten stumps and communist shortcuts.
Like the acidulous sand of praises from her hips and her mouth preserve writings of the earth.
Gates of a blood-stained vessel standing amid the modern office next to a furious wheel, incredulous as a lewd pug.
Not building is a form of awakening.