26 january 2020
An Acrimonious Dialogue
The ambrosial ending
of the day. I was not sure
of myself. How would the
thumb mould the pen
in internal search
of cavities?
You are not going to live
hundred years. Falling from
the terrace, with a thud,
lying in the pool of blood, till you
find the celibate truth?
Between the dust and dawn
lies the dark. The oesophageal
reflux makes a hole
in each eye. Can you
read in the thick fog
of absent faces?
19 october 2025
Jaga
19 october 2025
Jaga
19 october 2025
wiesiek
18 october 2025
wiesiek
17 october 2025
wiesiek
16 october 2025
wiesiek
15 october 2025
wiesiek
15 october 2025
Jaga
14 october 2025
wiesiek
13 october 2025
Jaga