Sobering her tongue were the first words heard, Till then it was but chitter chatter; tis not haste, All the…
Category: Avant-garde
Where objects become the words of their own.
Where objects become the words of their own.
Sobering her tongue were the first words heard, Till then it was but chitter chatter; tis not haste, All the…
People to me feel like shades,They come and go by sun's blink, At last it seems they never were, Each…
That's when I met her,On the ocean floor, Crystal light spelt better, A new gay door, The times in jest…
Prince, sulk beneath a hooded light, When I say this joke however mean, I truly do mean in stronger word,…
A way was shut, A glass was filled, The red so pure, Who knew would last, A smoke so fine,…
Then sat down the moon yonder, I'm looking away whilst he writes, He's looking at me whilst I sing, I'm…
I paint myself a picture leaping, Sooner the brush strokes rushed, They were crusted from disuse, All was tired lest…
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