Impossible to save the balance with this bigot.
Still profiles bond
Two hands remain,
Two eyes I've embraced.
When confusion seems to have
Sweet Irony,
hits my tangled troubles, and frees this
blade
from the stranding
I've been swallowed by the plaything
Born through my brainful ashtray,
It
It's so improbable to find the light,
When clouds are rubbing
A never ending Painting,
No subject defined,
Not a precise style,
Confused trait
Analysis seems to be the better answer
But how can I
Follies wedged,
Deep,
Twisting brush against the warp,
This waltz agrees to armo
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