Monday, September 10, 2018

PYTHIAS Comments

Rating: 3.5

I sleep over the fissure;
sharp edges press against
my soul my heart my sex,
my warm breath pours
into the chasm,
a file of black ants.
O my thousand lives!

Now, now I breathe deep
the intoxicating breath
of all that is.
...
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Barbara Korun
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