Eyes of Wax

The small, naked pyramids trill snugly from dawn to dusk.
Round things circulate in the vagueness.
The slight sound of the white and the black on the hands of the
   flowers awakens the mouths that repeat and repeat the rumors.
The winds are the hands of the flowers.
It's rumored that white feet are black hands.
It's rumored that concerts of dreams are ribbons awoken.
It's rumored that the feet of the flowers are the most liquid feet.

The naked drums and the naked lyres circulate at the foot of the
   naked pyramids.
The rooms of the rumors are round.
They are the little ones of the snugness.
They trill from dawn to dusk.

The heads of the flowers are filled with black ribbons.
On the long tongues of the flowers the stars give concerts to
   the sleeping colors.
A hand of wax scrutinizes the invisible costumes of all living things
   fold by fold.
Who lives there, what fills the folds, the little flowers of darkness.

The clouds are the heads of the flowers.
The rivers are the feet of the flowers.
Believing a rumor makes the white ribbons circulate from one
   wide-awake color to the next.

The heads of flowers are filled with black ribbons.  All the folds
   in their heads are filled with black ribbons.
The feet of the flowers are liquid pyramids.
Among the dreams they are the most naked flowers.
On their long tongues concerts are given to the sleeping colors.
   The concerts are vague noises of things that are said and are
   repeated from mouth to mouth from drum to drum from lyre to lyre.
The eyes of the flowers are of wax.
Believing a rumor makes the tongues circulate from mouth to mouth.
Believing a rumor is believing the wax eyes of the flowers.

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