I moan the departure
of death,
which was sitting in the golden
throne after the vision.
...
In the dim corridors
of a dirty game,
when the crime was rising
you were pursuing the self-ism
...
The war game begins.
You hide the sex behind
the hedge. The power
has gone for sale. Bury
...
You had set your sights
on the pond, accepting defeat:
wanted to know the depth of water,
fracturing sky.
...
When light will not
enter the cove,
water breaks in.
...
Were very hot, trembling thighs
like in frying pan, you sizzled
looking around for ladders.
...
Death wil wash
the feet of truth.
Grass, where the blood spilled
has gone for sale.
...
Eyes take flight
away from sleep, from words
to talk to moon.
...
Trapped necklace:
after a kiss of bee
to find the hive.
...