Poor eyes, framing a storm of melting senses, painstakingly written all over a canvas of dreams... Poor brain, hunting a hoard of images too pure to remain sounds of a melting echo... Poor heart, unbeaten by what order would have murdered for... Perfect it seemed, and bound to freedom... with, and without the Salvador...
Social Poem 2
Why is it that every bit of a stone raised to hit with, arrives precisely at nearly every moment of each day, straight away, against my very, every tooth left unsmashed by previous, attempts to secure 'em a well deserved p(a)lace in the newly appointed Paradise for Handheld Teeth Smashing Stones. In that very Paradise, … Continue reading Social Poem 2