My Interpretation of Poetical Ideas, Messages, Information and Resources.

Still life

A row of books,




the heights vary,

a kind of introspective ladder,

sweetness streaming down,

onto the last mug,

luring the bees,

is a jar of fake yellowish honey,

the rain begins the erode the murals,

on a deglazed cloudy day,

a dull,

uninteresting bed,

the soft grey,

cuddling him,

the man on dispaly,

he’s on display,

in between selling and non-selling,

he’s a still life,

with wood and wind as partners,

in a dark placid time,

spreading out the title page of the book,

the title has been flipped,

in the past.


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