FLÛTES ACHE

Flutes ache

Indeed ;

I ‘m not aspiring to the eternity ,

but the fact of the matter is that , I reprimand the wind

at the opening of the poem .

I roister as god does in the poets’ funeral .

I lie down on the brink of the tree which embraces

baby fruits .

Thus , I embroider my face on my shoulder and ,

scatter climates for nostalgia .

In order to suckle the whims from a bundle of speech ,

so , would the milk cry from the breast of the tale .

A dream lost on the sly with peeps star ,

I have no face to wet my confusion in a sky

for a new happiness .

I will seclude myself in the bottom of the absence

scratch its sumptuous night .

Threatening the silence with the resignation of the emptiness ;

and collect gravel to flirt the flutes’ ache .

poem from my third book ( a sky for a strange bird )