Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Cabaret Tax for Dancing

Fat dawn, get back into bed

Where the effort to put the fragments together transforms them into what he said it won't ever become like all the ready-made ever seen daybreak revoke itself

On the slopes of a petty, loving, request

Could you create an era that decisive and then behave just like it. Slim dawn, tender wandering, dawn, my jury, the black mass surrounds you hoping to be invited