It was early morning, and call me at the window
say "angs you want to kill."
I ask "Who?" They do "What?".
I mean I take everything, and as St. Joseph
I'm rolling down the stairs, looking for another Egypt.
The overall calm, the road was deserted
I say, 'Thank God, everything is a joke'
raise his eyes to heaven and I see a roof over my mother kneeling
balanced on a stack
the road is now full of people.
My mother is nearby.
A man just around the corner, dressed as a poet
sells sepia toned photographs, memories of the earth
before the fall and instead of
place where the stamp goes , there is a hole for hanging, "Where?" I say
"Around the neck" and now the street
people like a river, the third check my ward;
"There is no reason to be nervous"
you say waving their truncheons,
and I say "can not be true" and they say "It's not true at all."
Far further than the eye of the sunset
I wonder why there are children
and the officer following me hooked for a long time
shows me something with his finger
to watch the big ice cream with raspberry who smoke lens
children, the children are all flying
A childhood friend, after this poem
told me that "It's beautiful, a nightmare could
but tell me, dreams are often the things you wrote or did you
invented only to shock,"
love love
navigate via
I still svegliarm the
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