177.VIKING

177 Viking Also row more The fugitive metals say goodbye to you in chorus forever from the atolls; the gray waving palms of the branches; the ancient warm gleams of the stove in the room; The embrace of the chain lifting the anchor; And the breath, voices of the high seas in a minstrel song. Voices that run from the mountains, Slipping languid stabs Watering silver nostalgia on the wounds Bacchanalian wounds of the night Accompanying the look of the leaves that float like you, on the planisphere. Voice that runs to a secret delta Of sands in its knot chanting the choking Next, cliff tears, Drowning, in growing with the immense silent horizon of the secret. Carry in your carriage some dark curtains of the orb, with bluish lips of black light. Behind the door of each goodbye shine with their respective sextet of ruins, and white stamp labels, in the garments vodka and cocktails. Crossing the coins in front of you, heads or tails By the eighteenth step, Rutilant chimeras of gold, brass and sweat. Also the perfumes of the ivory shores Your provisions in your keen ascent To the viewpoints of the steppe Packed to the other shore with gallops Liquors, bohemians and orange blossoms. Reaching for the pollen of the lilies lilies and gladioli. scarface in a roman shop wearing the cape piously styled as a good prize. . Be among the endearing commas In the sky of the seagulls, The sky that is heard The cyclone that mercifully expands The lights that are clipped in the throat From the iris Applauded by the nectar of the clouds, Kneeling slightly to stall his boat Before the refugee islands From the human room. I hope we are not late at Ankoh khmer soft silks With its redoubts and channels. Going up fast to bet On the golden sands of the globe The slow spots of the sky In the afternoon of swirling ribbons of blood. Only the dawn of the afternoon is recovered Late at night and a vague feeling Away, Between the flooded mind Of memories flooded