A dedication in the market square Is steering propaganda’s romanticism? I have transparency, seems less.
In windowpane’s yellow eye Blinking eyes, their cruelty And steaming capital.
Without conjugal absurdities, I have opened the unhinged door, My brown eye attentively stands up.
A spring next to a sycamore tree, it Hinders vision leering with detached retina Outside into the Coliseum, it is barnacle.
And mortar pulsing people, sharply Shaped, intolerant the image of condoms Pinstriped pajamas captured warm snow.
Feeding parcels and profits with a question, “Only tonight the tonalities of This Vatican ringtone, the disgruntled?”
Locution man’s distribution of course study, It is an open door to amphibious equinoxes Served up on a taxable plate of prayer.
Avoiding cracks in the pavement, I walk Avoiding the distemper of studded steps Down the door of an interpreting prizefighter.