I feel an inner drowsiness so great it overflows the bounds of self. And I want nothing, prefer nothing, there is nothing I can escape into: The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Burn the dreams
Can we burn the dreams again? So that poems are born They need canvasses of bodies To illuminate words and Whatever meanings they hold In their varicose veins.
1 comment:
Thats an interesting photograph!
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