Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
Settle in a bar.
At quarter turn you feel death every quarter hour.
These humans were dreaming to make their butter.
Their look is remained pointed in the glass.
Their greater dismay: to be put into the world by their mothers.
The life - a saw sawing the heart - the type of place who not grow up flowers.
Stripped by the parisian streets with these looks full of torpor,
the hard disk fulfilled of files marked to the 35 hours.
This who makes that you will end into ashes or under earth.
Nothing tender in my verses, write in vernacular language,
who doesn't produce pecuniary source.
Then those who produce one are very limited in their vocabulary.
These quatrains, these alexandrines inclined to be marked on your skin to the red iron.
Robin - with lived years the mental is forged.