21 listopada 2022
Consecrating Muse
The big toe
like some ego, breaks the syntax.
You cannot climb the poem.
Time knows,
whom to possess, when the thought
moves out of the mind.
Words were missing
from your teeth. You won't
bite the moon.
Black lips print
a kiss on white forefront, intersecting
past and future.
You learn to
become still in witch hunt
of a lost thread of sacred kill.
Indeed you discover
Yourself, reading the myth of modern
Sisyphus and floating rock.
6 lutego 2026
sam53
5 lutego 2026
wiesiek
5 lutego 2026
ais
5 lutego 2026
Arsis
4 lutego 2026
violetta
4 lutego 2026
Yaro
3 lutego 2026
sam53
3 lutego 2026
sam53
3 lutego 2026
wiesiek
2 lutego 2026
sam53