trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
In white, in paint too representative
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Comes up with as a means to its own end.
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
Against this sky no longer of our world.
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
Along the walls are only empty niches,
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Unreadable from behind—they are well down
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
By the design of our own silent eyes
Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
In white, in paint too representative
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Comes up with as a means to its own end.
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
Against this sky no longer of our world.
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
Along the walls are only empty niches,
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Unreadable from behind—they are well down
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
By the design of our own silent eyes
Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
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