Hell! (Raymond Queneau Poems)
To drift with every peacock till my souvenirIs a stringed lyre on which all wiseacres can play,Is it for this ...
To drift with every peacock till my souvenirIs a stringed lyre on which all wiseacres can play,Is it for this ...
At one timewords welled up;milk rose but coolsat this time.Between times a plain lifecrushed pill on a sweet spoon.Can word ...
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