Bright machine
more agile and parcel thick
than the smoke surprise.
The easiest attraction
is the terrible beginning that chose its work.
Remembering the blot end of the month
the sun swelled. The boat touched the pain shore.
Do you think we have nothing fly to fear?
Pencil sailors, who rose as thieves:
a bland following in the hands of the land.
Paper dug away the earth;
smoke tumble was a circular space.
Now that I dig nothing, neatly now,
I take the doubtful burst, and enter.
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1 comment:
Ha! Or maybe this one.
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