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· Sonnet 20
Article
Despre Boierism: manifest si razie
Round Table
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-08-11 | | I cannot write. Of broken flowerpots, with leaves rotting all around them. Of chipped washbasins, placed underneath eaves so that the rain may rain within them Of the way in which the bathrooms of beautiful women smell & the water on the floor, puddles upon grit stone. Of wastebaskets, of cigarette buts put out in the sand, on the beach. Of dead things, hours thrown away in front of the tv, beer glasses emptied [too] fast. But I would surely like to. I would collect them all, pick them up off the floor, bring them back, & give them away – for safekeeping. [rains & dogs & bicycles & bad music & torn books] Of all things mundane I cannot write, for, look, words have murdered them.
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