You don’t need rests to go beyond horizons, 

cause you are only going; after that…

you are not coming to anything. 

That’s prolific, that’s paintings out of membranes. 

I was thinking about all these while I was stumbling upon night people…guards of madhouses,

and I was roaming in circle of foggy mazes…
I couldn’t find my home that night, 

I couldn’t get to my dearest bottles and island of bottoms. 

Horizons for me is that three feet line over my lying posture…

I am not going there without my corpse made of sands.

……………………………………………………………………

Photograph: Google.