as if from above

everything is the overwhelmed heart and penumbra. as if a storm gazed at my anxiety from above. high above this electric purple sleep. the sunless magic of having been to be and not to be and either or and both and perhaps. your tongue on rainy days is not my world. abruptly the storm creates the illusion of a master secret and infinite force plunging into my being from above. as if a never-ending mass of gestures were on the brink of fusing with this flesh. here here. I happen. lately. to say something otherwise than pain on earth. language strikes the alien skin of living animals on the retinas of mine. this song replaces the lament with mystery. by the passing names of sunsets. the hypothesis of wandering through bodies and looking at me from above. high above. and still on earth. as if alien to me and the most intimate touch on the dry tongue. the sad tale comes to the universe and somewhereelse as if a bed of abyss loves. chaos with no bounds. my chaos naked and night naked perspiring against your wolves boiling or fresh waters disbelieving more sleepless than God who knows the absurd