Escape from generic sleep. Right in such
Like soaked paper.
where, while playing a sledge, we chat
Para-counting: `scindrone-drandron,
Will there be a harpidron?, my name is
Manister-manipulatorHow's the local thing?
is a word worse than an insult,
But you – you have not been touched at all.
Light as you always show me signs on my skin.
poetry of peace and freedom, from reading which
They wrap themselves in me, completely dead,
leaves full of spikes.
