The Nineteenseventyfive Poem by Pierre Rausch
The Nineteenseventyfive
My shying away
Smooth could well
A corridor of intuition
Looked each other
Almost the same
Like a chair on the balcony
Everything is done
Where my interests lie
Sparkled and opened
Always the same
For one second and even two
On the chair to read
She watched the world
You can't do that
Stubbing out the lid
Which was one of presence
Collected in hospital
Nearby the night
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/8/2024 3:10:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
