Unsaleable Returns

The Sensitive Preparation (Herkkä valmistelu)

2012-01-26T07:45:00.002+02:00

Poems written in Finnish and googletranslated to English

Open publication - Free publishing - More poems

La Humanidad

2012-01-25T19:25:00.000+02:00

Open publication - Free publishing - More colors art

rain/and/rain/and/rain/and/rain

2012-01-24T19:04:00.005+02:00

rain/and/rain/and/rain/and/rain

I find you quietly-

He said that
a letter is a memory without a memory
and that time change faces
and rivers grow upstream.

The first
three windows
are in to the mouth that sings -

So
the correspondents are born
and all the lights find their memories.

sensitive preparation (cuts 2)

2012-01-24T18:46:00.003+02:00

we
love
Of course, in the heart of left hand

we write letters of silence, which
are complete only if we do not open The first letter

paper in the sun

2012-01-24T17:40:00.003+02:00

 "when the fingers fit the hand,
words are more extensive "


the sun is a star
Space is a star

the eyes are the stars
or as a deep water:

unpredictable, beautiful



the mind is a star
our brains are in space
fingers are the stars


paper in the sun, fabric paint:


"when the fingers fit the hand,
words are more extensive "



fingers
mind
smile
depth
mind
laptop
fingers
words

letters
sentences

SOLAR
Smile

cute
Space

umbrella, which
less able to escape the rain to listen to


write, to love each language:


 "when the fingers fit the hand,
words are more extensive "

"Cuando los Dedos ajustan a la mano,
las palabras son más amplios "

«Quand les doigts s'adapter à la main,
les mots sont plus étendue »

"När passar fingrar Handen,
ord är mer omfattande "


"When the fingers fit the hand,
words are more extensive "




The clock is 18.51.
Twilight is a blue, blue
blue.


Blue.

sensitive preparation (cuts 1)

2012-01-24T17:09:00.012+02:00

I remember the smell of your bones
when your smiled with your rainhair



and birds flow far away so that we could be full of yearning.






Wherever you are breathing.




Sensitive saw what happened, how the first time I am in full
welcome here drunk, which is the water and dye,
and chemical status
Outside of everything:








He is a collection of
constellation in which the existence of
is a hair fading light,
unborn suns suns kernels
collapsing white dwarfs, black holes

continuum.

                    (I kissed him - secretly dream, again
so gentle lips, that I feared him itchy.)







Enliven the eye of the veil: your image
                      Stars punctured, planted with vines, leaves, twigs:
your smile
is a martial artist
pilgrims' path to the east
                    breathing air.










Ear space is available.
Eyes are the space.
Fingers are the door.
The skin is space. Color saturation.

the will of the mind

2012-01-24T17:02:00.004+02:00

the dreams are owned by strangers.
                if I had men they would be he.
he lives far away, in a place, where all the windows are beginning from letter a.
in a place where the nights are under the stars, and
                         dates are speaking eyes smelling as coffee.

he is gone,  and for ever here, as the will of the mind
sticking the bosom of a dream  early in the morning.



                    unable to catch I hold his hair through my hands
his smile, his eyes elsewhere
which are seeing another way.

                          so tenderly I would been quiet, quiet, quiet.

so light that I would be

2012-01-24T16:54:00.003+02:00

the moment will be yours who fly away
                   I will fall trough the wind so light
that I would be
without you lightweight, non-existent
a water-cutted leaf, spat into the darkness of the night
a fleeting leaf

                   I do not want the  time passing over the trees
as a foreign

Prometheus, pour the wine to the earth

2012-01-24T16:28:00.002+02:00

My best days are gone,
the beards of the trees are verging on the wind.
Prometheus, pour the wine to the earth,
irrigate from it the mountainside,
make the language of the flowers empty.
If I would understand what the rivers are talking,
I would write the heavens crack,
I would remember what it seems to the mind of an awakened pigeon
when its beak splits the egg-shell space
for a first time.
Have a mercy on me!
I don’t want my hands to beat the memory of the life,
my foot to forget how to run,
and so, therefore!
Take a piece of the white bread, erase the letters,
then bow and say three times three,
the oath of thirteen,
open the lantern of our pilgrimage,

but don’t blow before the horse
runs through the field and sings a song
for the fox.

dream'less

2012-01-24T16:10:00.001+02:00

I confound you by our evry part,
        we shall changed into  birds
and the sky is a blanket
   from which the light dives its naked shadow.

Dreams eat us the same way
as the flowers are eating their way through the earth.
Waking up is a risky oppoturnity, a measure,
which painfulness is forgotten
             time after time more easily.


Your face will be dearer to me day after day altought
I forget  the continuums of  your little details.
I touch you through my dream
- you are far away, and near,
so near as the length of the breath,
under these same
clouds

at the place I don’t know
yet, maybe never.

Words

2012-01-23T21:24:00.003+02:00

Light and darkness
as birds, animals
drifting from branch to branch

          are all the stars, and he, and thou.


I do not remember grieving, not asking where the waters go
because there's only a rain and the rain can go all routes.

And behind forests there are other eyes like the snails in their dreams and the winds
from which fingers words went out to be forgotten.

Do you believe - there are words as the colors of the evening's income,
as the movements that occur in good faith,

without fear.

The Fourth Skin

2012-01-23T21:03:00.004+02:00

I see a dream about you through the water and the pleasure
is a labyrinth
            in which
                   I like to lost.


                                     To be like a mirror, the  e instead the i,
a one random switch, a perfect condition far from here
at the year of the bleached horns there are thousand days.

I write: a fish is a fish is a fish the smallest creature of all, the cutest, invisible
who drank a one-sun, and forever everything are sometimes.

This is my fourth skin and the water is your shirt.
I dream the rest and I can not broke my memory:

I glow in the dark
a skeleton full of the pigeons.

The Smallest And Cute

2012-01-23T20:41:00.006+02:00

Those who can adjust their light to another color.
Those who borrow from the depths of the seas.

Those who move when the twilight thickens.
Those whose flying is a beautiful sight.

Of those I would say he.
And he is the most.

The smallest and cute.
The one at whose stone the rays of the light trifle.

It is the truth wherever there is a light
there's also warm, but

you have to wait and be patient until
the eye gets used to dusk!

a clock ticket with

2011-12-14T19:10:00.006+02:00

at the bottom of the brain
a clock ticket with
my memory

I met him in the old days before
(heart. he had)