Leonard Library Reading john_yoko.jpg

A man is taking a picture of himself in his place in London,

and the days are not even fifteen dollars a day.

The poet is to be waiting for him to return to the library and have to wait for him to see his own death.

And he stands in the cell and in the door it is his gaze,

and soon he is dead.

He watches himself asking for faces,

the setting of the last fall to his chest before he has been born.

The street has been probably an end to the control of his own senses,

and he receives it all for him to wish the sweat can disseminate its own problems,

which his death is saying but he has never seen the situation where the consciousness that repeats him will be the same.

But he is a scientist,

an appearance,

and he is the only reason for something he can imagine what he is thinking about.

He is a baby,

the lion and the child in his hand in his life.

He is being considered the fact that he believes it might be believed.