The storms lopped off that head of
giant waiting room
fog – braids
always besides seeing
a snake – pit
crucified orchid looks like a uterus.
along roadsides made of hot coals
Do the trumpet of darkness hide love
do music of the wind drinking wine
do carelessly frog – brides
cast their veils
over the vertebrates
do bare-hearted glass frog
cast their steel tools with greater violence
over tin plates
Is it a stretched time
a hamstring torn apart
all the dead ends in the night.
with a cello played by umbilical cords
as an endless wait
and gallium rains
fall from the past
I should remember
sunbathing naked suburbs
when swings empty as eyes looked at us carelessly
Closes with a
small lobster clasp
of dead children passing through dead children
a vortex where they wallow
in whirlpools and abysses of the deeps.
Children of the stone men
My bastards… birth of my birth.
all with ageing faces
They’re taking me there..
where bone made of roses clocks in fear.
Through heart’s mouth
cockspur veil of senses
started to grow rapidly
wood and waves
gimmicks on the face
face in gimmick and stiff thorns
a bronze plated pendant of
of sweet pastel, a cutting ladies’
birth of my birth, and unborn
children, sandwiched between ovaries
I’ll paint myself
like Frida Kahlo
Cannibalism in autumn