19 july 2023
In Trance
Less molecular
affinity exists in the breaths
of time gone by.
I will squeeze
my lips stitching the
borders of pain.
Brown salt was
taking the color of hails.
Knives were red.
You know the truth.
Religion covers the half-
burned candles.
Draped in shroud,
the untouched womb
picks up the priest.
Even the stars
go dim like orphans
of sky, searching god.
18 september 2025
wiesiek
17 september 2025
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16 september 2025
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16 september 2025
absynt
16 september 2025
absynt
15 september 2025
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14 september 2025
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13 september 2025
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12 september 2025
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9 september 2025
absynt