if telling a truth is a story,
lying is a better story.... where the truth has no place where to hide....
Ask eileen.......her hair is mostly born white....
irish
skin burned in mec mac mr. hesus made her lost...her mind in the
department of history of latino part english
half....irish....so-so...italian...french....spanish...portegese
from grizly whisky wesly to sweet red potato loveskia vod-kia
if you a take left...turn
you will see, as she is smoking....firing down,
as if the earth becomes a river of memories, it brings them up and flash them off all at once. the turbulence is in the memories not because of the river depth or curvature.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem