Hey Chatterton!
Beautiful boy: who killed you?
It was, it was that nektar from seraph's phallus that one day?
That one day took your days away.
Who could judge you?
You should be judged by the God of the puerile tenderness: a summer's kilohertz-eyed God, or perhaps by the children of the Slept Supernova, or by the eye that fulminates the magma, hey Chatterton..! In nights of sulphuric splendour: do you walk by Rome?
Your poor heart immense, he was affected and concerned, then you started your sentimental journey: in the climax of yöür vertigo you drank all the God's face in one go...maybe He cried in your ecstatic cheerio, too: the tina correx of the seas was replete.
Chronicles that only I know, narrate your flight over Iberian castells devoured by azured oceans; your 1.000.001 pleasures in the island of the double-sex Amazons; your descent to the Jordan...
Your voice reaches my ears, de profundis; now I know you did born again; in insulinic shock, in beggar of love, in low-frequency transmission; in high alpha sky...
And in all the black tears that you cried.
Hey, Chatterton.
