Poezja

Overlooks the juvenility.
The shrinking genitals.
It was the militancy.
The freedom, brought
about by the guns.
Now indiscreetly firing at the sky.
 
This deadpan delivery
of the shut doors. Economy
has failed the toads,
the croaking minions. A raw
poem speaks now
for the unopened coffins.
 
The run, the run of the
century begins. Some one was
running, non-stop, from
sleep to sleep, away from the sexual
assaults, from rapes, from
man-slaughter.