This is my bougainvillea consciousness
It succors each flautist
With triads of the glowings
Each musician is death like
And radiates at the abdomen
Like a portrait of carings
A God in the volume
And the roots pining
Like deer thoughts in the sky
And frappes for commerce
The path of kismet
And the orangest tree
In a weird blinking
The flower’s departure
be universal 