"He used to go to his favorite bookstores
And rip out his favorite pages
And stuff them into his breast pocket
And the moon to him was a stranger
Now he sits down at the table
Right next to the window
And begins his quiet ascension
Without anyone's sturdy instruction
To a place of no religion
Has found a path to our alikeness
And eats a small lump of sugar
And smiles at the moon like he knows her"
Regina Spektor_Man of a thousand faces
2 comentarios:
Y es que yo podría cantar estas notas a su oído un millar de veces, una vez por cada cara, y él no se inmutaría.
Beso mudo,
J.
jejje..bonito juego..
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