It was a very windy night and some of the larger vehicles found it more prudent not to venture. In consequence some of those who had planned to go were unable to do so. Many others did go and there was a sacrifice, of what shall we, a sheep, a hen, a cock, a village, a ruin, and all that and then that having been blessed let us bless it.
As a child,
I was abandoned
in a story
made of trees.
How gorgeous was Paris toward the end of September
Each night became a vine whose leaves
Spread brightness over the city above
Ripe stars nibbled by the drunken birds
Of my fame awaited dawn’s harvest
One day the horses will live in the saloons
and the enraged ants
will throw themselves on the yellow skies
that take refuge in the
eyes of cows.
…and arrived at
like love Her voice Her voice,
even the piano
listened with admiration
he threw up his hands
& wrote the Universe dont exist
& died to prove it.
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I wrote a ‘poem’, I scribbled quotation marks everywhere over Fate passing by…