.
"...And i did walk towards the misty summer evening, to burn the blue sky behind me.
Over the horrible hills and far away, the weaver-fairies screamed out your name in repugnant laughs over my shadow..."
In this tip of Europe.
Where the grim panther offers the sweet milk for the walker. And my love violent love...
Royal crane: does Le Diable lay his wings of man's milk over les acantilaus?
...Xixón ye une vista de François Truffaut:
Les homes y las putes/
la brume marine/
la lluna asesine/
The old bagpiper is playing in the avenue, lit by the electronic sky. I slide 30 cents of €: my skeleton becomes radiographic glass...
