an hour and midnight...
The suspects are waiting, the
return of the soldier.
All over are debris
but a chevice...
Red fond and her ring
and a painting in
bronge.
The message from within
in four eyes.....
A blended signature.
We don't have one life
but many.
I think words as sound and music
Those are words....
The suspects are waiting, the
return of the soldier.
All over are debris
but a chevice...
Red fond and her ring
and a painting in
bronge.
The message from within
in four eyes.....
A blended signature.
We don't have one life
but many.
I think words as sound and music
Those are words....
No comments:
Post a Comment