Poetry

Joop Bersee
PROFILE About me Poetry (3)


16 august 2012

The Princess

 


They tied her up and
Dumped her in a dungeon,
Letting the hungry axe wait
Too long with its bloody tongue.

Its walls were dead, blindfolded,
Open and shut, no space for pink.
Pluck the day before you turn to stone
And bitter nuts dry on your tongue,
Awake between the crutches of
The stairs to the block, the red road,
Bulging red, like genitals, lips shiny,
A curse made in a factory of flesh.

Pluck the day, the green and blue smoke.
A sigh would rise up, keeping you alive,

Somehow
By some.
A few.
Few.




Terms of use | Privacy policy | Contact

Copyright © 2010 truml.com, by using this service you accept terms of use.


contact with us






Report this item

You have to be logged in to use this feature. please register

Ta strona używa plików cookie w celu usprawnienia i ułatwienia dostępu do serwisu oraz prowadzenia danych statystycznych. Dalsze korzystanie z tej witryny oznacza akceptację tego stanu rzeczy.    Polityka Prywatności   
ROZUMIEM
1