Are these poems? No, they’re rags, scraps,
everyday’s paper-scraps.
Tantalos, fill your cup.
Impossibility, Impossibility,
dying I throw the wreath from my locks into your eternal void.
Are these poems? No, they’re rags, scraps,
everyday’s paper-scraps.
Tantalos, fill your cup.
Impossibility, Impossibility,
dying I throw the wreath from my locks into your eternal void.