Echaton

The way out is not visible through dusty paths,
That would make the world an intrusive idea
My construct is built in the middle of the room
I'm afraid to touch it.

The fountain of eternity may be moved,
To the pond of his existential debris
I will throw away the stones of consciousness to the point of pure unsatisfaction
I will leave the polished pebbles on the street.

I'll spill my thoughts on the walls,
There is a gap, holes improve memory
Laughs lashes
vibrating from unconscious work

I will raise a butterfly to the wind,
he stumbles behind a leaf of a fragile tree
And no more flying to my window