15 kwietnia 2023
Suffering
When I ask for
the innovation, you
lob the moon.
Glass and sand
in your eyes, melt into
kisses. There was no
other way.
You cannibalize my
poems, make a statuette
and wear the pendant.
You stone a wall
of paper. Why did it
carry the names of
failed gods?
You watch the stream
of tears feeding the red
poppies about to be
slaughtered.
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