Il testo della Machina mimesis (in the corner cafe)

Nothing less than the sound of footsteps
Condensing into a shape.
Sneaking into the murky urban cafof crispy mornings.
Realized it was a mirror after hours of work. they are filth.
And also easily lost in the labyrinth of the theory of their
Own art - this easily percepted. within the 4 years
Of rain it became my own microscopic macondo. it all meant little, if
Nothing what is the frase i look for... chaotic dementh.
Ah yes indeed. been there before, fair lady? a copper medal i won
At the chill-kill that day: putrid run, salt... torment,
Thirst. two fierce feasting parties wishing me warmly welcome in
The aftermath of their own cold war. neo-colonialistic freaks,
Says i. tempers increase to hatred and vanish - in cataleptic
Disorders. an apparatus of something, don t really know what,
Remnant of the good that succumbed in man once? the absolute
Legion of oddity. now guess what in the world machina mimesis is?