the vertigo of colors the spirit of contradiction, a strange pleasure, trembling with anguish, I resume my journey, then I go back, to the scene of the crime. That was long ago.
Looking through the wet window, sadness has settled in, a certain beauty awaits, breathes, waiting for the good weather, listening time making noise, the room has been almost emptied , forced to murmur to avoid being spied on,
Repeat ut every night, the same song, the same chords, the same dance steps, always the same, but always different, maybe it should be done more often. maybe we should like to do it.
at the edge of the cliff
the idea if the fall,
or its possibility of it
of its aftermath,
look at the world today (and the dizziness)