rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Reset Eleven, Day Five

Saturday was one of those days when simply stepping outside made me feel as though I had a sunburn. Naturally I spent very little time outside. Inside was terribly boring. By the time evening came around I had forgotten most of the day. As I had slept poorly Friday night, I almost took a nap Saturday evening, but kept getting distracted by one thing or another, and it got too late for napping, and I ha to make three o'clock in the morning my bedtime goal. And here it is! I guess I'll be going to sleep now. I can't think of a single thing to say anyway.

Sunday Verse


by Pablo Neruda

They will continue wandering,
these things of steel among the stars,
and weary men will still go up
to brutalize the placid moon.
There, they will found their pharmacies.

In this time of the swollen grape,
the wine begins to come to life
between the sea and the mountain ranges.

In Chile now, cherries are dancing,
the dark mysterious girls are singing,
and in guitars, water is shining.

The sun is touching every door
and making wonder of the wheat.

The first wine is pink in colour,
is sweet with the sweetness of a child,
the second wine is able-bodied,
strong like the voice of a sailor,
the third wine is a topaz, is
a poppy and fire in one.

My house has both the sea and the earth,
my woman has great eyes
the colour of wild hazelnut,
when night comes down, the sea
puts on a dress of white and green,
and later the moon in the spindrift foam
dreams like a sea-green girl.

I have no wish to change my planet.

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