I am outside the range
and very well
nobody will reach me
unless I am willing
but to it isn't becoming overcast.
the black cloud covered the
bright image for me and those days
became unimportant
for me
for us
I am not having to break heads
in order to invent anything
I can only shout insults at who deserved it
I always search
for a tart
apple, it is raising my spirit
when it is as sweet
as you, when something
you need
and I know what.
Maria Barbara Korynt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/33-warm-pieces-i-know-what/
