The Teacher

  When we were small we played together, and since then our lives have grown with memories that ever grew more sweeter the longer that we kept our love prevailing, growing and expanding; like a flower that would never wither but uniquely only just continue growing larger and more beautiful and splendid in ever increasing sumptuousness of colours, better even

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I love her

I love her,  Even with excessive make up, She loves dyeing her face and hair, She adores me too, but  She frequently forgets my name, Even it is always the same, While In every colour,    I constantly identify her, Whatsoever, Her face and hair Do violently change, Identical rage, The very attractive cage;  Only once I thought, She was

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Pricking the Black

Catwalk flaunts- so heroin chic with swollen knuckles and shark grins these unwomen.   Those unwomen hide damp needles (slightly soiled) in dark places. They lie in silence pricking the black an addict’s sad collection.   Cold unwomen buried by furtive glances. They glow- to warm their chill and the music moans (tell her I’ll be waiting in the usual

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Incurably invulnerable

  Since I loved you and gave you my first love there has never been another, honestly, since you alone was ever faithful at least in spirit, no matter who they were and what they were, how many and how dubious, all the others, all those false alternatives, all those who thought it opportune to love you less than I.

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The hippie trail

  tracing the past forever… When the hippies started moving in the 60s, revolutionizing all the world with love and beauty, music and perception it was thought to be all new, but it was only a renewal. The idea is easily traced back, and first among the hippies is considered the Norwegian Heyerdahl, who later crossed all seas on rafts

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