Son-bull now

 

bp angel

 

Equipped at times, vastly on the premises, I ask
What better words could take the part, the traces
Of all the fathoms that redeem the dusk, a bruise
Dipped fragile in the clamor of all faces

Strut over alley, you, pick the guess
Timbers treat and cloak with faith, slant
The agony‘s a matter of survey
Beyond what was or knees that blend

Turbulent huddling, completely dull at taste
When was I supposed to say, not calm but handsome
To measure silence is an art

Excuse me. Once and more and more again
Extremities are hard to reach, restore of mind
The provinces and depths will single call

 

 

Bogdan Puslenghea
Pic Nick Victor


By Bogdan Puslenghea

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