Longing for a corrective conclusion
when the rain of hatred will turn into the hail fall
The suppressed conscious of Neanderthal will regain it reign again
Through the quadruple game of brain for who to lead the milliard of modules?
or who to lead the the human, it’s conscious, forms or something like Not-self!
Or the organism that rise from the secret pain of a pale seagull
Will have comfortably flied up in the fresh air
Perhaps that will filled with neither oxygen nor hydrogen
some kind of ungrammatical air
Perhaps their would be a time about to sweeping up
That all the oysters from a kind of airy phenomenon
through the unfinished touch within the beautiful fair of colors.