Symbols Are Oracular Forms Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

Would they buy this adrenalin reserve of white stuff lying in the earth or a mighty force loosening fiery morning whirlwinds?

In symbols of oracular forms, mysterious patterns create vortices with an acute angle. They are centers beyond help—like an ether-lit cigarette. Don't try it.

I'd rather roam around Kiev wearing one red white and blue glove and be substantially insubordinate in my literati spiel. I recognize the white powder on the edge of a blade got to me. I drown into myself.