Friday, December 11, 2015


If I could have one can of that, please, I'd be in
love with everything again : the world has been
multiplied too many times now for me to keep a
count. I am keep insatient and insane too by the
wait of all the minutes. My flying cloud is about
to burst. This rain-down will for sure include you.
If any uncle of mine had written such a poem, I'd
have known there was something amiss. How high
has he gone, how crazed must he be? The impatient 
dog in the woods with a bone  -  running, running
and running alone.

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