Broken Link -1

I am thinking
like a white powder
that is sprinkled on a wound
or on a plate of food.

I like to listen
like a flood virtually real
that loves the low lands
or form Mexican waves in galleries.

Who sells?
and what?
Is it him with cups of tea
or me with a fist of money?

The sky is blue from earth.
The sky is black out of here.
The blood is red, - mine.
Yours is gorgeous even if in green.

Return Void

I want an ice-cream
that tastes like thunder
and melts like light.

Living in a room with myself
in an egg-shell dipped in orchid
the vibrations of outside - you can feel.

I love this tiny speck of touch
with everything alive or not
a movement - mine or not.

What is the meaning?
I can't get this.
Or is it that I don't want to?

An answer in both directions
and a drive that leads to both
and inflammations disappear.

It is time
that tastes like thunder
and melts like light.