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.
10 january 2026
wiesiek
10 january 2026
Jaga
9 january 2026
wiesiek
9 january 2026
Jaga
8 january 2026
wiesiek
7 january 2026
wiesiek
6 january 2026
wiesiek
5 january 2026
wiesiek
4 january 2026
Jaga
4 january 2026
wiesiek