a troped poem

 

apply the summer to the problem and it might solve itself he owns the

entire block but she in addition to turning starting from the leaves are

red and where he thinks of that it is the slave who is presumed to who

say the wrong thing meanwhile she grows old waiting for the start of 

the morning she puts in place her clothes her desires and so in order to

tremble and it is not the tobacco smoke between her ears but the hard

dark which eventually is becoming clear she you look at the time and

immediately before the strike when it departs what will it be being and

who will do the bedroom? the cloud of 2 spoons of milk in her coffee

making an abundant cream color as for those who she thinks she wants

and with anything it is what it is and is and is and in no other way what

and many other people want so many things and even now is mainly a

wise addition this being the work she was always meant to do and be

and now able to use the revolution of the heart the sky finally violets