The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
To Conchita Garda Lorca The moon came to the forgewearing her bustle of bulbs.The boy’s looking at her,looking and looking.In the disturbed airthe moon moves her arms,and lewd and pure, liftsher hard metallic breasts.Run, moon, moon, moon.If the gypsies come,they’ll…
To Carmen Morales Woodsman,chop down my shadow.Free me from the tortureof not bearing fruit. Why was I born among mirrors?Around me day dancesand night copies meonto her stars. I want to live blind to myself.And I’ll dreamthat ants and burrsare…
The cloudy skyblanks out my eyes. To restore them, Iplace a yellow flowernext to them. I can’t change them.They remain lifeless, blank. (Between my shouldersmy full and golden soul takes wing.) The April skyturns my eyes indigo. To give them…
On the evening land the bonfire laysthe antlers of a maddened stag.The valley spreads out. A gambolling breezeskips among its folds. Air crystallizes under the smoke.—sad yellow cat’s eye—Inside my eyes I drift among the branches.The branches drift down river.…
The avenues of poplar gobut leave their reflection. The avenues of poplar gobut leave us the wind. The shrouded wind liesfull length beneath the sky. But it’s left its echoesfloating on rivers. The world of fireflieshas invaded my memories. And…
Four pomegranate treesin your orchard. (Take my newheart.) There’ll be four cypress treesin your orchard. (Take my oldheart.) Sun and moon.Then, afterwards . . .Neither heartnor orchard!
The first timeI didn’t know you.The second time I did. Tell meif the air tells you so. One sharp morningI grew sadand was seizedby the impulse to laugh. I didn’t know you.But you knew me.Yes I knew you.You didn’t know…
If I dieleave the balcony open. The boy eats oranges.(From my balcony I see him.) The reaper cuts the wheat.(From my balcony I hear him.) If I die,leave the balcony open!
Throw this ringto the water. (The shade places fingerson my back.) Throw this ring. I ammore than a hundred years old. Quiet! Ask me nothing! Throw this ringto the water.
Bee-eater in your dark trees. Night of babbling sky and stuttering air. Three drunks perpetuate their movements of wine and sorrow. Leaden astral bodies spin on one foot. Bee-eater in your dark trees. Aching temple clamped by a garland of…