18 february 2015
STILL BIRTH
Roses had gone wilting
after surgery.
Biovision
of acrylic lenses
was projecting a corrupt green mount.
The rubber king had a papery laugh.
How you deal with a maverick –
matter – of – factly?
Pall bearers of a tall legend
were carrying nitroglycerine sticks
unfazed.
Saboteurs of moon night were scheming.
I was sick of pretentions.
Brown and black scars
become a honeycomb
hiding the agenda.
Stigmatized devotion gets back at you
after still birth of truth.
I will wait sine die for the verdict
of hope.
20 june 2025
wiesiek
19 june 2025
wiesiek
18 june 2025
wiesiek
18 june 2025
Jaga
16 june 2025
wiesiek
16 june 2025
ajw
14 june 2025
wiesiek
14 june 2025
ajw
12 june 2025
wiesiek
12 june 2025
Jaga