“The sound of the wind stretches its limbs. The jazz music witholds some of its ruckus. Hands move something in the dark. I say: just an old romanticism... No matter, the place will fit everything. Vision descends upon flaccid pathways… — Ashur Etwebi Copy Share Image
“The sound of the wind stretches its limbs. The jazz music witholds some of its ruckus. Hands move something in the dark. I say:… — Ashur Etwebi Copy Share Image
