In The Evening Everything Has A Schedule,

Until Only Infinity Remained Of Beauty

The Poem Is Sad Because It Wants To Be Yours, And Cannot Be.

You Stupefied Me. We Waxed, Carnivores, Late And Alight In The Beaded Winter. All Was Ominous, Luminous.

Life Is Not At All What You Might Think It To Be A Simple Tale Where Each Thing Has Its History It's Much More Than Its Scuffle And Anything Goes Both Evil And Good, Subject To The Same Laws.

How Many People Came And Stayed A Certain Time, Uttered Light Or Dark Speech That Became Part Of You Like Light Behind Windblown Fog And Sand Filtered And Influenced By It, Until No Part Remains That Is Surely You.