Thursday, November 10, 2016

Courage Comments

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The kitchen is a promontory. The pans are reefs eaten by a wolf-wind that blows and runs

in circles on the island. The railing is a grey gust, his mate our sharp sister. Just awaken

we are the birds bent over the sink, tired of the nightly migration, confused by the rockets
...
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Antonella Anedda
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