Soviet Dreams
I know nothing of LeningradBut I have a box with painted domesThe sky holds the ogee against itselfThe way we hold bad memoriesAs if they are sacred, fined and exquisite Scintilla. Beauty is one speck in an eyeA moment of lunacyWhen the body overcomes the AngelSuch stupidity is due to faulty wiringA sudden urgeAfterwardI evermore observe myselfFrom that threshold doing a very foolishBut…
View On WordPress
















