state of poetry
he moon had fallen from the sky and the agony of the wind had no bounds, and the earth trembled from the silence of the verses of peace sung with a voice of clay
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the silence of the horizon intoxicates me, nothing can be more soothing than the desert in the world stretched by green fog, where atavistic corpses intertwine with simulacra and kites that travel next to ephemeral androcephals and raise their agony in steam /////// a project from classic sketches passed through A.I. filters, by CATALIN NEGREA
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another altar forgotten by the wind
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