There is a terrible gray dust over time
A south wind with strong wings
deaf Echoes of water in the evening capsizing
And wet night that springs from the turn
rough voices who complain
A taste of ashes on the tongue
A sound organ in the paths
The vessel of the heart that pitches
All the disasters in the art
When the lights go out in the desert one to one
When the eyes are wet as
blades of grass
When the dew descends barefoot on leaves
Morning barely lifted
ago someone looking
An address hidden deep in the road
Warmed The stars and flowers tumble
Through the broken branches
And Dark Creek wipes her soft lips barely off
When not walking on the dial which has
rule movement and pushes the horizon
All calls have all the time meet
And I walk eyes in the sky rays
There is noise for nothing and names in my head
Faces live
Whatever happened to the world
And this festival
Where I wasted my time
(Pierre Reverdy)
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