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I feel myself a tired steed I don't give up breathless at the gallop through the blue track that whips my face as fast as the reflexes of the far away mountain blind me I don't know if the decomposed light into its own spectrum charms me I dream so

because the bastard you are begins to curse soon in morning the opal light that comes in through the window and the rain falling in circles on the avenue's asphalt it doesn't mean that there is no reason to smile to life just now that you are editing this

I can say that my garden is the best in the world cause it's there I sit down to look at the sky and the immense sky remains indifferently blue against the conviction that my three hundred fifty square meters are the most beautiful in the chaos that