
The sky has moved down To Ìlúpéjú, veiling houses, men, birds And beasts with milky clouds. The streets Are sparse with rushing feet. Few men Walk like Bartimeaus, taking uncertain Measured steps. Last night’s rain finds The sun slumbering. Perhaps it has risen But hides its face in the rain-filled Breasts of the Calypsos of […]
from Brittle Paper http://ift.tt/2ospbyP
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