Poezja

Standing in a milk line you were 
talking of depravity, of blood lines 
and the breast enhancement. 
 
A teenage fringe bomber wants 
to sew the civil society and explodes 
himself before the empty bakery. 
 
A young gal throws her son 
from the ninth floor and then jumps 
to get the justice from indifferent god. 
 
Can we talk and wash away our 
guilt? Crossing the river was 
not enough, we need drinking water. 
 
Bits of human flesh are plastered 
on the walls. The death wears a 
face of daddy to kill the times.