Captivated blindly, distressed by lethargy, no grand epiphany No memory of pages book-marked sleepily Here, in a far country, snow viewed from a train window There, a couple arguing in a row boat Lost at sea Blood thirst and anarchy Nameless, gone, through passages like flat-footed Hobbits shuffling off to sleep The hero smokes a cigarette, his one regret a woman in an apron (Martha?) tired of washing dirty feet. A prisoner dreams of freedom from his bug infested sheet. There is no plot Such a sad lot! 100 years of solitude no logical conclusion always more confusion Crawling in the heat, with no shoes on her feet the heroine hears their laughter through the barbed wire fence and they hear her shriek a phantom in their sleep. A man goes to Paris on a whim to fly his artistic wings meets up with Anais Nin stalking in her stockinged feet laddered, torn and tattered, no reprieve A young boy dreams of battles glorious infamy while his mother...
A wondrous stack of words here, cool!
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