Coke Poem by Boguslaw Duch

Typhus fed children junk.
For workers sprats / Miss Wit the turn insi de mode.
Art Nouveau hourglass nodded silently in the computer on the main street.
Buddy. You know..
They were carrying me to Szczytno to embitter me by the dogs.
Becouse I took advantage of gulp and the gap between the feet of the Virgin director.
Because I love, I love milfs! :)
But know also that the teeth of fate chew hair dakinis and saddens me.
this mush
on face.
Rising, dealing with. The kind of solvent, like prints,
The end of currants the end of raspberries, early apples.
The ceremony seems to me fiction. Collective hallucination;
Délire pleasant.
Reflects me from the wall, my idea of universal salvation for cats and dogs.
I have a stressful, anxious slate
and scene for scene the director lingers.
It's really like apathy and cruelty
in one of a glass.