the boulder of my own helplessness opposes transcendence,

  which I had decided to shame and to make my temple of wind up to the paradise in heaven.

and where up there a beautiful soul man asks me what the words are when I must talk musically and to make feelings when the parable is excited genetically and when I try to say the speech is unjustifiably half the words.

with those clarity from the lucid gaze I envision on the lights to the zenith where the sadness and the vague nostalgia of the viral nostalgia give me thoughts soaked in a desert and sublime virgin virgin my smile and cheek.