In Vienna there are ten little girls, a shoulder for death to cry on, and a forest of dried pigeons. There is a fragment of tomorrow in the museum of winter frost. There is a thousand-windowed dance hall. Ay, ay, ay, ay! Take this close-mouthed waltz. Little waltz, little waltz, little waltz, of itself of death, and of brandy that dips its tail in the sea. The Waltz, Angela Brittain I love you, I love [...] Citeşte mai mult »
Everything is broken up and dances
[Audio clip: view full post to listen] Am o slabiciune pentru el… shake dreams from your hair my pretty child, my sweet one choose the day and choose the sign of your day the day’s divinity, first thing you see Descoperiti voi cine sta in spatele poeziei
