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No no the dead have no brothers The Hydra calls me but I am used to it It calls me Everybody But I know my name and do not answer And you the dead You know your names as I do not But at moments you have just finished speaking The snow stirs in its wrappings Every season comes from a new place Like your voice with its resemblances A long time ago the lightning was practicing Something I thought was easy I was young and the dead were in other Ages As the grass had its own language Now I forget where the difference falls One thing about the living sometimes a piece of us Can stop dying for a moment But you the dead Once you go into those names you go on you never Hesitate You go on
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Jun 5, 2016 16:13
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| # ¿ May 16, 2024 03:56 |
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I really did meet a blind girl in Paris once. It was in the garden of a museum, Where I saw her touching the statues. She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf. It was in the garden of the museum. I told her I was a thief disguised as a guard. She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf. She told me she was a student from Grenoble. I told her I was not a thief disguised as a guard. We had coffee at the little commissary. She said she had time till her train to Grenoble. We talked about our supreme belief in art. We had coffee at the little commissary, Then sat on a bench near the foundry. We talked about our supreme belief in art. She leaned her head upon my chest. We kissed on a bench near the foundry. I closed my eyes when no one was watching. She leaned her head upon my chest. The museum was closing. It was time to part. I really did meet a blind girl in Paris once. I never saw her again and she never saw me. In a garden she touched the statues. She put on her lipstick in the dark. I close my eyes when no one is watching. She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf. The museum was closing. It was time to part. I never saw her again and she never saw me.
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Jun 5, 2016 16:18
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