The ghost of a seed in a kitchen

The ghost of a seed in a kitchen

A balloon in the land
They were not in a context of sand – in the old tower on top of the old town
A balloon the moon in the water
Like the brain of an oracle 
Almost like a pizza in heaven
the sport, in water – the trail, of senses
We don’t know, what has been broken, a purple ghost, living in them, and representing 
the true self – a friendly ghost – it’s in my guts
An intricate soul a broadcast of fucked up waves – fucked up vases broadcasted 
through a hole – through a stone thrown away in the face.
The empty cliffs – the agglomerate of juicy round rays 
is coming at us connecting with us connecting from far away.

August 21, Leonardo de Marchi