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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=578813" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Vantage Point Of Their Lonely Studios</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bottles hidden under couches which turn out<br>To be beds: <br>Bottles on top of red cement, bottles spinning<br>Burning with questions: <br>Bottles the answer to this; <br>My face bleared with roses and abandoned highways, <br>And cars abandoned, <br>And forts except for their mad soldier blooming fireworks: <br>And Kellies are in the sky, <br>Rippling as if with banners of all her men, <br>The kaleidoscope of her delinquent theatre, the rosaries<br>Of her body’s tattoo; <br>And I am fully scarred and pretty, and I think of her, <br>Because I have nothing left in who I am: <br>And she sees her children as dolphins swimming beneath her, <br>Swimming through the immense greenness of this underage<br>Garden, <br>Going towards the sounds of dinner, like bottles spinning<br>Attune to the whistling of such an immense foreclosure; <br>For when her eyes are closed, everything is going to<br>Shut down, <br>And the parks disappear under the stipulation of her closing<br>Heirs, <br>And her perfumes leave us just as transfixed as bachelors <br>Staring down at the beautiful lesbians who are playing just like<br>The pinkest otters from the vantage point of their lonely <br>Studios.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=578813" data-title="The Vantage Point Of Their Lonely Studios de Bret R. Crabrooke" data-description="Bottles hidden under couches which turn out
To be beds: 
Bottles on top of red cement, bottles spinning
Burning with questions: 
Bottles the answer to this; 
My face bleared with roses and abandoned highways, 
And cars abandoned, 
And forts except..."></div>
</div>
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