The queen

I am lost on the wingless Mercury porch to chase my echo.

I am dominated by Queen Medusa, sitting in her green velvet chair with nine silver dogs beside her.

I am now in labyrinths of anise, where gentle butlers smile smoothly. They greet me cordially, wandering centaurs in the lilac pastures outside.

I ride on lace reindeer at a mad speed to reach, in anguish, to reach their nylon hair that adorns the flag of dreams.

And there I go.

I am running in the blood of the green veins of an idea that has sprung from the source of the past year.

I sit in yellow. I'm crying in hyperbole! I'm lost on the balcony of Mércurio without wings to chase my echo. I'm in cosmic space. In the plasmibiosis of the universe that looms and swallows me. I am billions of light years away from myself.

Glossy wax people drag their bodies towards the door of nowhere. Chlorophyll juice bubbles in green foams in bronze mugs, where dwarves drink without a mouth.

Now where I am I don't know.

I never knew.

Am I at the summit of the rainbow, the purple part of that protractor?

I do not know. It doesn't even matter.

Sitting alone, without fear of falling, at seven o'clock in colors and a mixture, I land quietly on pluto, mounted on a giant butterfly, quiet, quiet and colorful.

Peaceful landing on pluto, with an umbrella.

And the rain does not promise to leave traces.

Done