Tuesday, 9 October 2012

Mon cher, don't take offence
it was all rendered in English
you never saw my horse, Frenzy, 
headbutt a tiled wall

The scent of truth or, 
the soul of youth
Beauty is pain, because pain 
is truth and hencewith 
true art is tragic

In the town I live in 
almost all the windowpanes
are soiled
How could I be 
slower than my mirage of love?

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