Читать книгу Letter of Letters - - Страница 8

within the urban noise of engines

i hear the splash of a river,

in the gray texture of asphalt

i see Cezanne, which cubism predicted,

in the universal stench

i inhale the scent of the sea…

i’m not here.

who is this guy,

who are my feet carrying

into the whirlpool of ordinariness?

i don’t know who he is,

we are not acquainted.