18 september 2016
Uneven Path
It was a summer night.
A windswept moonbeam
plummeted. Sexualizing
an indigo flesh. A butcher
was seducing
a spider, in company of
a holy book. Sunbathing in
mass grave of skulls. The eyes
peeking out of the caps.
You want to pluck the blue
berries from
volcano mounts. The key player
will burn your script. Body
of milk died on snow. The
moth was coming out of cocoon.
15 december 2025
wiesiek
15 december 2025
Jaga
14 december 2025
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14 december 2025
jeśli tylko
13 december 2025
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12 december 2025
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12 december 2025
Eva T.
11 december 2025
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10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele
10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele