Dry, non emotional thrombosis
a bunch of saints went missing in the night
deviant nurses rushed up to the altar
righteous priests having their teeth fixed
two dogs arguing over a molecule in a cellar
a harsh contest. no one watching, though
“can you wash my hands, please?”
this box is full of instruments of disgrace
life is such a needless fragile sacrifice
all gates open, straight through to infinity
try and reach out any soul with a symphony
a wild flower or a hidden bargain, in vain
sordid details: misogyny and flying limbs
a mask cannot speak but it can make you fly
flamingos were the last poets roaming the planet
eloquence, music, pink fur, bended knees, silence
stranded walls, pockets full of lust and flames
the hopeless goddess trying to evoke suicide
a stroke would mend the coldest of the hearts
