Shoot me, Harry. For Christ sake shoot me/ Ernest Hemingway
He remembered long ago when Williamson, the bombing officer, had been hit by a stick bomb some one in a German patrol had thrown as he was coming in through the wire that night and, screaming, had begged every one to kill him. He was a fat man, very brave, and a good officer, although […]
I will die in Paris/ César Vallejo
I will die in Paris under a downpour One day of which I already have a memory. I will die in Paris, and I will not run away. Maybe on a Thursday, like it is today, in the fall. Thursday will be, because today, Thursday, I prose these verses. My humerus bones raise my bad […]
