I was thinking of a clock

not a daughter,

even when

she ticks in the womb

I`m infatuated with my

would- be death

-carrying on

exclusive thoughts

in menstrual motion

dripping and erratic

with the soles of a Slavic`s shoe

who would dare be more determined?

Yeh all great poets have brown hair,

color is a defiance, but no more than a canine`s brain can shelter

all grown up,

when that young woman`s




give me fever, I see his eyes still set on crinkled petals.


5 thoughts on “Aborted

  1. not a human word can supply,
    maybe some strange commendment
    which whispers you not to cry

    it’s something strange (as it was said)
    expecially if you are mad
    or upset

    of nothing or everything,
    lost on a way
    of a crescent sadness,

    something which you shouldn’t care
    but that, will or not, you have to face
    (but I don’t know if you got to dare…)

    it’s a strange commendment,
    someone say,

    you may follow anytime you feel you can’t sustain

    or simply ignoring it,

    it doesn’t matter, you can cry
    if you like

    an Angel to the Heaven

    with a friend
    a stranger
    a guy


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