Prose rose poem



I saw a rose on the pavement. 

I got to the temple to hear the great lord of truth, and suddenly he slipped on words and glanced happily with his tongue like hands beating and screaming very loud throughout the people, making me back to the door.


It was where suddenly it sound pushed down my bike, a prize from liberty, ongoing, I got way crossing marginal land of city tuning with noise voice breaking wall of my soul rather letting me far. 


I see seeing passing people, parties from Sunday with locked grisly heaven. The wind I hear, it is calling by my name.


 I took continuously the path known without any aim marking descending on my thinking, it does not want anything more true.


I am  cycling among crowds in a surrealistic fair of craft things made by factories modeling and selling it,  until I arrives in an abandoned park of grove where great rats are adorations for upsetting groups that still climb the pole kissing a flag.


It makes me found balancing my feelings and increasing bicycle velocity for to take the great curve tô the west following by terrain filled by holes and mud waiting for that civilization walk for the sad south disappearing beyond hills staying there leaving my life within of a  sweet jars. In this place I can open my eyes, it is home where I can sit on the porch and read.



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