There are days backwards shining.
Arid blazes and wizened landscapes.
Corrupted tenderness or paper propellers.
Thunderbolts on the finger, muddy skies filaments.
Upwards silver rockets and emasculated madder flowers.
Hands full of fears or blue mornings in Vienna.
Transparent Bohemian nights, broken words on the lips.
Shipwrecked horizon-lines and flickering clouds.
Desertic loop way or sunken paths.
Fleshless dusts, flinching tightrope walkers.
There are days backwards shining.