14 sierpnia 2022
For Intensive Eyes
There was something
between the lips.
You will not recite my name.
A muted word―
becomes a psalm at
execution. There was no
crowd to witness the grace.
If I prepare a book of
all my defeats, would you
write obituary.
The antiquities had become
alive. This was the beauty
of lunacy.
And the saint was dead
without meeting his god.
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