22 Abril. Poco sol, poco sombra. Mediated clouds, wavery fillets of some unknown fish, banked again on the horizon to the south. Who cares? Some great maker, no doubt. His employ: to fall in love with the world--again, and again, and again--an endless chain of falling, or is it an ascent, into the hummus, the loam...
Last night: argyle and eros. Songs of George Brassens. Mourir pour des idées. But what? A cabaret, at first--relaxed, all attitude...but then the tone darkens, the weight of the beating wings of the past...
Song of Jeanne Planche...
Espíritu del Río, ojalá...
No comments:
Post a Comment