There the bustling night meows around the corners

 I saw yellow boats like paradoxical fruits in the landscapes of time. Rootless hands float. The sun lands on them. Listening windows open. His crystals speak softly. They smell like violets. Also inside the house. There the bustling night meows through the corners of the dust. He speaks in black (As one pays in black. (No racism.). He sighs shaking his ample hair.

Palimpseste sur painting. Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.