A Place Like Poptropica

I can not do anything about your past. But I can take all beers of the fridge. Are not timely. Not in Vienna. Not in Paris. These nowhere, taking all my ends. The part I really am. The part you think. The party that I think. That is not memory. Is not that what you are.

I can take all the beer in the fridge. Fetch them as the prizes are those of Coca Cola. My nights are your evenings. Cut my eyes, your eyes half open, with all of your precautions. I

result, generally, I find. None of this is planned, it has no exits or entrances. We are a language. A world without ghosts of seconds.

do you do with the sadness that is?

dirt undo as nails. No re-think of it as the street lights reflecting on the walls than it already was.

Not in Vienna. Not in Paris. Not in the photos of the Opera, which tonight features a ballet company.