i’ll write again
when i don’t have to search the stars
and the words are able to find me
i’ll tell them all of my heart’s wishes
so they can take care
of their mission send to see
i’ll let them whisper in my ear
soft little prayers
i can then maybe share with thee
i’ll keep save their secrets for now
that’s what they told
and when the time is ready, so i’ll be
and now your body, a shack of boards.
mercury eyes interfering with light
of the initial insect.
above us, the balconies filled with wet laundry.
the sky is exfoliating in millions of sheets
which autumn sprays like a confetti rain over us.
behind the public toilet
an old beggar looks into her ragged bags:
bread, milk bottles, few eggs
a machine for manufacturing loneliness
and in the heart, something deep, unbearable.
her big blue eye
it fills us with terror.
— The End —