ISSUE: Fall 2015
after Guillaume Apollinaire
My room’s the shape of a cage
The sun crooks his arm through the bars
But I, who smoke to make mirages,
Let the flame of day light my cigarette
I don’t want to work I want to smoke
after Guillaume Apollinaire
My room’s the shape of a cage
The sun crooks his arm through the bars
But I, who smoke to make mirages,
Let the flame of day light my cigarette
I don’t want to work I want to smoke