The wings of our seven sins
And all the trains are the devil’s cup and ball
The poultry yard
The modern world
Speed is useless
In the modern world
Distances are too great
And at the end of the trip it's terrible to be a man with a
woman…
We can’t go to Japan
Come to Mexico!
On the escarpments the
Riotous vines
They seem a painter’s
Colors booming like
Rousseau was there
His life was dazzled
At Chita we had a few day’s piano and I had a raging
Five days stopover because of b
We spent it with Monsieur Iae that calm interior the father’s
me his only daughter in daughter who would come each
Then the train took off again.
And amputated limbs dance tulip trees are in bloom
raucous air tresses
Fire was on all the faces in alette and brushes
Idiot fingers rapped on all the ngs
And in the press of fear glance
In all the stations where all the
And I saw
Sleep
I would so have liked to sleep camels
I can identify all the countri more than 500 kilometers
closed it’s all I saw
And I can identify all the train
Cut up of “Prose of the Transsiberian and of Little Jeanne of France”, by Blaise Cendrars
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