20 november 2012
ONLY METAPHORS
A hidden self portrait
in a tar pit
I do not want to explore further.
Wind was making a big sound
the tarp blowing off,
I stand naked under the scortching sun.
A classless pain rises fiercely
I am careless about my height
amdist tall peaks.
Hypodermic, my little dachshund
holds the time in small paws
and plays with my stasis.
I loose my taste of salt on lips
charting between the tears
of infant fears.
Satish Verma
26 january 2025
26.01wiesiek
26 january 2025
Resztki dla dzwońcaJaga
25 january 2025
0034absynt
25 january 2025
Marie-Sophieajw
24 january 2025
24.01wiesiek
24 january 2025
Klaudiaajw
24 january 2025
Relaksajw
23 january 2025
Jowitaajw
23 january 2025
2301wiesiek
23 january 2025
jesieńBezka