Poezie
Diary. April 29
1 min lectură·
Mediu
I cannot walk across
the silent tongue of the cherry tree. A poetry store.
A song of a song.
I fear
the lines I haven’t yet written. They always
take the cruelest shape of
a boomerang.
I am a living flesh wall.
Strange now to think of you:
a white blizzard of birds,
traceless into cyberspace,
caresses my ribcage.
Eyes shut. I see
Death, faultless acrobat,
swaying on the life trapeze.
Between two sequences
of immortality -
so funny, my chase...
Even a child can swing up high
into the perfect blue.
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