Creative Sound Blaster Extigy Driver 7

not see, no talk, no

wrote this poem today. With all its imperfections and then publish it.

E

n
our eternal return is imposed silence, muffled whimper
behind the walls of defeat.
The Trojan horse as always and we always and still broken. The horse promises, comes armor flashing charms, whinnies the final word.

S olo we admire is the blazes, applaud the whims of the gentlemen, Menelaus, Alexander, Kan: admirable, distant, soulless, all-wise, atavistic rebounds
of a past that bursts always already legendary giants or nomos
grotesque
What matters for the history of return?