From 08fd8e95dccb91d0495a50d1009f85cb80cfad65 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Tue, 14 Apr 2015 18:09:55 -0700 Subject: First compile in v1.0.0 --- found-typewriter-poem.html | 61 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 1 file changed, 61 insertions(+) create mode 100644 found-typewriter-poem.html (limited to 'found-typewriter-poem.html') diff --git a/found-typewriter-poem.html b/found-typewriter-poem.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b85c78 --- /dev/null +++ b/found-typewriter-poem.html @@ -0,0 +1,61 @@ + + + + + + + + + + +Look | Autocento of the breakfast table + + + + + + + + + + +
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Look

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a found typewriter poem

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Is he older? I asked her. And I never got an answer, because at the moment she disappeared in a puff of smoke. I like to think nothing ever happened to her save that she went over to the spirit realm. I usually know better though.

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Look, I say—look here—at this old placewhere nothing changes.Look at the peoplewho pass by. Look atthe trees. The flowersfull of wanting: lookhow full they are withcolor. Look how they mockus, empty people whomust fill themselveswith changes—emptiness.

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“There is nothing to bebut happy. There is nosadness to fall downlike cherry petals.“

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The [trees don’t under-stand:]trees they are tootall to see the germof discontent in us.

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