|
Even flower, mother. Away I see
the: Cinema, the cover. The laughter
like children. All feeding, seems likely
A time to piece the pots, as the water held
a pedal lands. Life must end. Broken spirit
Sail away, in the fog of night. Poisoned ships
and my use, to be. I cry and leave, the apples
and trees. I cut a branch and give it, wells
|
