¿LAS PUTO HOJAS SON DÉBILES? ERES DÉBIL.
Elm, Elm, Elm, leaves are gone ¿so soon? Hardly seen them. Withered, crumpled, blackened… ¿But why these words? ¿Would we e’er call them towering, plain, eye-seeringly sickly green in the o’erbearing summer? Slowly… I scoop them in my icy-dried granite hands— But race, the thoughts— I must, I can’t… There’s nowhere to preserve them from […]
