5 grudnia 2018
Waist-High Sunk
When you release the
words, your curled fingers
burst into flame.
It was an ancient filth,
a bird fighting in the mud-
house of quote-unquote.
Someone navigated
over the bald heads to find
a landing place for a cuckoo.
Between real and fiction,
you cannot write a hymn
in praise of satan, called god.
I am done with the darkness
all around, and rip open
the wall to let in the jupiter.
10 marca 2025
marka
10 marca 2025
marka
10 marca 2025
marka
10 marca 2025
marka
10 marca 2025
marka
10 marca 2025
wiesiek
10 marca 2025
Bezka
10 marca 2025
Jaga
10 marca 2025
absynt
10 marca 2025
absynt