![]() fragilityA Poem by AnonHimMoosewoman in the supermarket knocks at the watermelon asking for fruitful meal where seeds stain the smiles of friends red water flows in the blood she has gathered; worker in her smoking break puffs the smoke with its bends that releases anxieties she cannot breath begging her imagination to be consistent as the tobacco that she inhales to stab her world; scientist bending his back at the laptop a screen that reflects all that he has sweated lines and numbers stretching on the graphs that are his oracles and his dull magicians for the evening manifestation of his cryptic flesh; walker passing by the alley his sight has no space for bricks clay under his soles echoes with geographies where his decisions eroded the mother rock in fragments that do not amalgamate in diamonds; there is a lady that says of herself that she has been capable of feeling love with blank eyes flashing toward no landscape talks to her friends to receive their balsam voices that she will not have to point her mistakes again; an unfinished poet savouring his letters wails his cry in the womb of engulfing art for the sentences he had failed to change that made the singing ghost he is split into marching toward a canvas betraying its crimes; a crowd of youngsters has gathered they drink and play music, hint on some moves that would be the ticket for more joy to deliver they speak with words they have heard around trying to make them vibrate with no shallowness; among them one stand asides he has joined for he feared loneliness but he hears in the laughs of his mates a dark corner where his thoughts dive with a promethean promise he blindly embraces; the city screams with advertisements with noses lifted up the glasses gleam on the clothes stir with the breeze of honking cars but no cover has yet found how to stitch together the meat that has no mind to know itself only veins that are sprouting to drink the air; a person that is already dead in its gaze is not destroyed by voices tattooing their guillotine. © 2019 AnonHimMoose |
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Added on July 14, 2019 Last Updated on July 14, 2019 Author![]() AnonHimMooseprague, Czech RepublicAbouti once believed in stories_stories are what we are made of and it is in stories that we constantly seek to make ourselves a present to be given to others_but i have lost faith in how i can be represen.. more..Writing
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