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We eat on the east






We eat on the east, is
eats in the east, immediately lifted
We eat on the east, soon lifted, the sourdough bread

-

And small breakfast lunch
And that day, dad bed in his bed, his newspaper
And Cezanne painting, Cezanne baker
The bread and wine, sourdough bread
The umbrella pine, the wind mocking
The Van Gogh soils
Just turn the evening, the evening m'essore
I go out at night, I'm getting
And then I ride, I am my ball I am my
ball rolling,
Roule, and gathers the foam was finished I

In a bar
The Andean panpipes
Font bang, bang my head
Crossing
So I returned
I returned home in
Inside I

-

To the east, it also sets
And we sleep in the east
To the east in the paintings, sleep
eyes closed looking at the stars
We walk in dreams
We walk in the wind dreams
Night at Rising

---

Park Tenbosch
Brussels

lejournalier@gmail.com