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Cover For 2000 Avalon Shifter

A word, a verse - Twelfth: passeggiango

walk v. intr. and tr. [Der. step] (I was walking, etc.).. - 1. intr. (Aus. have) Walking slowly, for fun or for exercise and diversion, often without a clear destination. 2. tr. a. ant. or letter. Take a walk or travel in general.

Walking into a fortress of cotton, I hear the voice coming off the desires,

pet silence, crouching in a bush with light that steals sight and

tricks up trembling.



Terror. My silence.



run away from him and floods, latex desires, my square.

dried. Dried.

More and more I wiped inflated expectations.

chests carved from a mind that does not lie,

break into each other

and multiply

front of a cold moment's rest.

Mortentoothpick Holder

A word, a verse - eleventh: start

start v. tr. and intr. [Comp. and begin to re-] (I start again, etc...) - 1. tr. Start over, take a break after more or less long: r. the game; r. a job, a letter, a research re: Sweet color of oriental sapphire ... A mine eyes did recommence delight (Dante). With ael'inf.: R. speaking, writing, brand new start 2. intr. (Aus. be) Having new beginning: the game resumed more fierce than before the cold starts. Personified.: Starts to rain, it is (or has) already started getting hot.

Access.

working, studying, arguing, to pay to avoid.

NO!

Restless something different.

Restless to watch.

On the way home from work takes me back, leads a surreal orange groves and large concrete buildings, old and not considered old, from a city where everything has less than two hundred years terribly "new". The trees are raised by a gray ground, made of overlapping "patches of asphalt and atavistic remnants of San Pietrini, once sovereign. Citrus fruits greenish form wobbly wheels of parchment, which remains compact before the wind that brushes against, undecided on what to do. Tourists stop amazed to see wrinkled oranges stationed lazy and swollen up shriveled branches besieged by a smog that does not destroy them to have someone to talk to. You make pictures flash of creativity around the botanical all-Italian, someone dares to even touch the strange orange, open them, taste them. Are dry. Empty. The face of the brave tourist contracts, eyes stick nell'agrume now expired as if they would not accept the death that he was hiding, I wonder how, in a semblance of life. Appearance that graced the race of a people gone mad, that does not taste the pleasure even more shape.