Poem without paper or ink (April 20, 2017)

Nothing is mine,

Starting with the pains of this world!

I-soul, tactile contact in this physique:

I-sound.

Non-being of contact, carnal-merchandise.

Deaf and mute.

A dying man.

Something in the tone?

Contemporary definition of avant-garde:

Also, lull.

Lonely joke and halberd insight.

Mental metaphysics.

OM!

Speed on tachyon ,

Impossibility and metaquantification.

Does eat dust, oh my old AUM!

She,

Now unlimited expression:

My divine, almost always naked,

living temple,

And the work itself by hand.

Flies and returns in amazement:

Artistic language, always universal,

never covension,

Something and everything, right there on (1),

My lullaby.

The Gravitation Snake:

A hell of a truth,

World and reason like nothing.

Poetics taking a tumble,

Magnetism and Enjoyment.

Kindness:

beautiful winged,

No back pain.

guitar phrase,

Rounding the Beck.

Jeff:

A very strong nuclear force and a lot of fun.

Pajelança is science fully on glory.

No stress,

Musicality like that, without oratory.

Seafood with caper;

Almost essence:

I-omnivore aching on people.

And how painful such language is,

I-half-tumbling and impatient,

Unconventional art

And more than excellent!

Band that  healing,

Potent radical

In full evanescence.

Person!