inspired by pampered materialists pushing books on how to get nirvana forever while arriving from end-of-the-wealth orders whose only concern is wandering between special feasts and diets and signing petitions to protect endangered species, fashioned and on the other hand, after talking to a homeless person
Between toilet and scaffolding climax
seasonal socks under sandals’ scavengers,
flushed out bustards
in the middle of the pigwash
in the spider’s heart.
Axis smuggling honey
in the lungs of the forgotten dragon,
they feed on the wash of light,
they feed on the headache of solitude.
The hypocritical tenants of the silence feed
non-adherents in anti-Images, et symphoniæ.
Give me the torn yours,
the thrown yours
from the basement tapes,
according to the designs
of its predecessors.
Exiles out of suitable doors,
who drank the moon’s blood
dusted with streaks of powder,
infections, poison, parasites,
coal notes and
I raise the torch for the sun
they shut off last night
from the current meter.
written by Leila Samarrai, in the summer of 2019, in Belgrade’s district of Krnjača
Editor: Obinna Eruchie