the sun peeped over the garden in the prairie grasses
Its worth is caught in a poet
A poet who leaves the dictionary between
is absent, imprisoned by the Otari
In his hands he carries bad blood, bad wines
dismissed by her hair and her stinking nonsense
The perennial sea sun undressed
Eternity, seducing the poet to watch.
No longer are your soles are mine now
Dear Rimbaud
Those
burning And now I'm the one who is chasing
Lightning
sour feelings And while much separates us forever
We are partners in the thirst, searching and anxiety.
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