The Sea From the Mansion

Only years left until the last breath,

of the nostrils of immense magnitude,

that lie between the whiskers of wisdom

and the eyes of Jupiter.

While submerged in the water,

with the moss-stained lips

which outlines the prison

where arid cacti have long awaited the demise.

And when the cats of march sound in the spring,

loudspeakers the blue whale from the sea, with a ring,

and the eyes like a camera, start to sing.

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'Twas when I was lying in the cold haze of the morning,

outside the mansion, when I heard the disastrous wailing.

Thanks to Ege Tokdemir for his help.