Читать книгу Border and Word Breakthrough - Helmut Lauschke - Страница 8

is battered, the sheet is bent, dented he urges the future.

Like everything that pushes and urges. when it dislocates, it's about being. Hammer hammers, the scythes die, chips await the sweeping brooms.

There were days, they saw the cleanliness. Not a word, not a syllable comes from the opened eyes. No place, not one comes in the twilight after sleepless night.

Words, wordplay, word mirrors, word lines, word gyrations and word salad, things come back unexpectedly, if unexpected, that's the case with rings on the fingers, keys and rims. Who knows about sheets, bumps and rifles?