Sibila Petlevski Biography

Lying quite at her feet,
veins cut, in a field of wheat,
he expects her face would relax
in a smile. Teasing flex,
...

Meadows, acres of meadows and gravitational fields.
Crushed to death with hundreds of my own shields,
Unarmed, stark naked like a slug, buried on a rock,
I escaped myself eventually, turned the key in the lock.
...

Wet leaves on a stairway. A slow wind still drawling
Weasel words from the night before. Cats prowling.
Is that little Alvina weeping: her long, unkempt hair
Stuck in the chimney again? It sounds like a fanfare
...

Maudlin, stumbling', falling senseless
to the ground, I used to show
my little bruises like exhibits,
pleading people not to touch them,
...

The spirit enters the eyes of some individuals
in the fateful moments and never more:
at birth. Then they cry. And on the very
end when the others do that instead of them.
...