Chatter above the Grave Poem by Pavol Janik
Chatter above the Grave
Clumsy are hitting lamps
like night moths.
Matured drunks are falling down.
In the amusement park, wierd generals
in a little green skirts are making grimaces.
In the middle of a metropolis, the forest burns.
In the shell of whispering lips
you swim in a part of the story.
My heart is beating the rest.
Pixiades, Smiljana
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
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5/3/2024 10:54:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
