Ficciones...

Down the line between the garden of midnight redemption
It come as soft and as cool as breeze across the fingers
In the way that some spirits linger
Like voices from the past in the ocean of the last breath of our existence
Is the sound of the sun and the ladder in which we walked.
Like time passing trough our bodies, like a drop of Jupiter in the fourth day in which
Collision became a fusion of mysteries, a word in the pond of thoughts
A wound in the heart of rubber souls and green fields of mint songs collected by the hands of God, that he place on our minds that he wants us to sing, that he wants us to shout oh my, oh yeah… subjective definitions on a lyric wrote by Lennon or maybe Dylan or someone else that wants to surprise each minute, with unexpected dilemmas and an unexpected anatomy of paragraphs mixed with a transition of mind and physical evidence, pulses of time come and go by, crashing in to the riff of twenty four seven digits in this day that has no limits or at least I think so….

HJF