Eight Line Poem

The tactful cactus by your window
Surveys the prairie of your room
The mobile spins to its collision
Clara puts her head between her paws
They've opened shops down West side
Will all the cacti find a home
But the key to the city
Is in the sun that pins the branches to the sky

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Ветер оставил мое отраженье в реке ненадолго. Мне холодно. Волны следы на песке отыскали, уже не лаская. Нет повода. Так холодно, холодно. Даже стоять под огнем звездопада больше не надо. Не сбудется. Будет вода, как стекло изо

please unhold me now i need more space please unchain me now from your embrace cos demons make me want to trial you demons make me want to lose your hand tired of steady beats your heart