23 april 2021
Carrying Scars
The prediction goes awry.
I wipe away an exotic
smudge on the paper.
I was trying to fight
venom of adverbs and
adjectives.
I want to retrieve my
poem, as it was― before
the digital onslaught of beheadings.
Give me my garden room,
baby moon and spotless
needles. My blood was blind.
I would come again in
my burial mode, when
your trenches are ready.
30 march 2026
wiesiek
30 march 2026
absynt
29 march 2026
wiesiek
29 march 2026
absynt
29 march 2026
absynt
28 march 2026
absynt
27 march 2026
wiesiek
25 march 2026
wiesiek
24 march 2026
marka
24 march 2026
marka