Wasn’t it further
any flare?
Even rarer
became the shuteye of the starer.
His face averted,
lashing himself for the valedictory staccato
of his will-o’-the-wisp
looked set on the pleasurer.
Longer than an epimyth
had milled about the downslopes
the forthright wayfarer
to harbour his quixotic hope!
preened for his aright scoop the plunderer.
Elle danse sur la toile
d’une araignée ailée
son sourire débordant
tentation pour les iris
le pied glisse
la pensée l’amortit
seul le cœur est tombé
dans la paume d’un ange
walk with me into the polar night
cold is the new heat
didn’t you know?
you like to watch blood penetrating the snow
do you want to touch it?
the climate will change
the oceans shall rise above our chins
and turn our fur to white
the sun shall linger under the horizon
patiently restrained by strings of darkness
the sun shall never come up!
she’s looking down to the water
grabbing my grandmother’s hand and diving
can you hear them talking
as if no winds have gone between them
swim my dearest ones
they have cherry earrings
grandma’s sewing some vanilla white shoes
hiding the knots of her youth on the back
feeling my daughter’s feet with her disappearing hands
they both look at the waters
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