After the crime


The gun is not pointed at, my head.
‘Give me money!’
is not a pit of snakes slithering in and biting me,
crawling in my skin,
not the place where plants breathe in fear.
I enginely dug in my imagination,
looking for shelter with my fright-filled eye.

Every foot will assemble then.
Dancers in circles joining hands and
dancing with hands up high.
A dance of small, spotless steps,
slowly, in circles, while people join in
and swell it.

Forced, wicked foreign letters,
to create cloudy thoughts, mirage memories,
dumb definitions! Someone likens me to a monkey!
This is someone forcing a finger into the joke,
poking where he doesn’t belong,
mixing in ups-and-downs, pictures, prints
threatening riddles with mysteries.

They…they carry something within them…
in front of the church!
This is symbolism, all of this clowning around,
this dress, all of this is wrong,
where, where are you taking me…
what black cat is this?!

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