Landscape of a Pissing Multitude (Federico Garcia Lorca Poem)
The men kept to themselves: they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists. The women kept to themselves: ...
The men kept to themselves: they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists. The women kept to themselves: ...
Playing her parchment moon Precosia comes along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights. The starless silence, fleeing from ...
The moon came into the forge in her bustle of flowering nard. The little boy stares at her, stares. The ...
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