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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Moon in the Ear My shoulders blinked an orgy of eyelids dancing in strange rhythm, women remain unmoved before the hurricane that howls wildly, with the metallic taste of the hurricane burning on the tongue like living fire, with the hurricane's shape that strangely resembles a part of my blood. With the hurricane's blood on hands dripping like melted red wax, with the hurricane's skeleton on my head like a crown of white bones, these women more beautiful than waterfalls of crystalline water, the women who cross the street for a lost cause or for nothing. With sticky darkness on fingers like a black velvet glove, with heavy silence on breasts pressing like a marble stone, trampling the soft shadow of trees that tremble slightly, which shudder caressing the sleeping passersby on cold night sidewalks. Or inhaling the thick fog like a bouquet of silver carnations, we will still wonder about the cause but the cause always hides, this time the cause will be the effect of the last cause forgotten long ago, it will be the white bone I carry in my eye like an ancient amulet. It will be the tired clock that got bored and beats backwards through time, from midnight toward noon passing through the violet evening, it will be your hand that you bring from time to time to your warm forehead, to see if the lamps still burn in the city asleep under fog. Boredom silent as a wet leaf falling soundlessly down, the comforting drink of night flowing like a velvet river, the moon that enters the ear whispering secrets from distant worlds, carrying liquid dreams and memories floating like petals on water. And I carry on my shoulders eyelids that blink watching in the long night, looking at the woman who comes with the tamed hurricane in her hands, with blood transformed into melodies and bone melted into fluid poetry, in the hourglass measuring the unhurried time of the disappearing cause.
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