from the beginning of the day to the beginning of the night
A leopard, in the final sign twelve, under the table of madiera
Vertical bars of heroes
Men and women combining, a paragon of virtue, a little canal with feet, does not know, can not know about love and cruelty and the clients places of desperation, the veins of Venitians, the resemblance of god, that has a wagon: this is the state of your prison, for the man who put you here, the one you like, is the same that mires a number of determined outcomes, vices, there is no way you can ponder the figures and symbols of this poem, for the precision of the trauma of the universe. On this bridge, cantilevered, with your mind under the parasol of this poem. God, in his wisdom, illuminates the rudimentary animal and gifts comprehension of fate, and acceptance of destiny, to only one among you. The rest are desperate, resigned to obscurity, and valorous in ignorance, for the machinations of the world are complete and simply consumed in the fire.
Another dispute, Dante was in Ravena dying, unjustified alone with every other man. And there god declared the secret purpose of all his labors, Dante in a little village, with a small bowl of soup, waivers with intention of era upon era of banjo players eating asparagus. The tradition refines all, the desperation, sintering habits recited and perdition on that infinite coast, although no recuperation, no lumbar sequoia, because the machinery of the world is hardly complex to the simple man.
20160430 Inspired by http://www.napowrimo.net/day-thirty-2/