Andre Breton

 

Hot rain
can make
all the difference
with yr eye

           between
           squeezed
           lids

“A little rain on your hands raised toward The Dawns.”

“Subject to that wild gallop.”

“Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or will be not at all.”

He sang with an earthbag tied to his knee. Comp yr ears and profane not the platypus played over yonder. The trumpet pays footage with a dilapidated middle finger. Infinity overstays the intersection. Can you dance a cogged paradise poem? Crude bells crudely chimed crude problems. Checkmates in continuity: es sprecht eine neue envoi.

Slop amplifies a pie in the sky:

           to come
           to sleep
           to die
           and
           that is all
           he wrote

A hero queened the streets: ballsacked with sophisticated French tastes: wrong way hardon: nipples at noon another kinda weathervane: tentmakers corner the rubble: all the motherfuckers shift in their seats: wrong note dissecting intimate footnotes & in spite of blindness one comes to the volatile forest.

 

 

n e x t

 

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