in front of me,
hungry morbid intestines
travelling eternal on wheels,
suposed to considerate happiness
lying close,
easy-lazy and handy,
able to be sized
by an amount of clicks.
Rolling hazardously myself
inside the pannikin,
met some broken-shoe pals
with pricey cigars in their hands,
in evergreen lost faith anciently.
I offered little wise-corn
pleasant words to them
without even been asked
from cracked lips expelled,
the weak voice of Blefuscu
raised shy against
the colosus Rockefeller.
None of the ekphrasis
never assumed
any stablished
truthful praecisio.
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