Vapor Sea Holdings [VSHD]

<i>There are cemeteries that are lonely,<br>graves full of bones that do not make a sound,<br>the heart moving through a tunnel,<br>in it darkness, darkness, darkness,<br>like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,<br>as though we were drowning inside our hearts,<br>as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.<br><br>And there are corpses,<br>feet made of cold and sticky clay,<br>death is inside the bones,<br>like a barking where there are no dogs,<br>coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,<br>growing in the damp air like tears of rain. <br><br>Sometimes I see alone<br>coffins under sail, <br>embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,<br>with bakers who are as white as angels,<br>and pensive young girls married to notary publics,<br>caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,<br>the river of dark purple,<br>moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,<br>filled by the sound of death which is silence.<br><br>Death arrives among all that sound<br>like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,<br>comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no<br> finger in it,<br>comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no<br> throat.<br>Nevertheless its steps can be heard<br>and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.<br><br>I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,<br>but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,<br>of violets that are at home in the earth,<br>because the face of death is green,<br>and the look death gives is green,<br>with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf<br>and the somber color of embittered winter.<br><br>But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,<br>lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,<br>death is inside the broom,<br>the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,<br>it is the needle of death looking for thread.<br><br>Death is inside the folding cots:<br>it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,<br>in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:<br>it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,<br>and the beds go sailing toward a port<br>where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral. </i>