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A Glimpse of Beauty

12/2/2025

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​​Time raised me to adore you forever,
but see how you wheedle your way to me.
I eat your hair for my breakfast,
crunch on your eyes for my lunch
and chew your body for my dinner.
Time cooked your bum like potatoes,
and sprayed them with a tube of ketchup.
I suck my tongue before pouncing on them.
From the crown of my hair to my toes,
from the tip of my nose to my twin lips,
from the pit of my stomach to my fingers,
I am a crazy epitome, insane, thumped down.
I swallow the hog of long and short nails,
now, irons fill my stomach like a rock;
I eat sand and pebbles crack me up;
I swallow rocks like a volcano
and now I speak the tongue of mountains
even valleys sprout in me like a forest,.
What is my offence apart from loving you?
It's the craziness of our era that I should be mad
as the side effects of being deep in love,
a man swooping down to guzzle leaves,
as soon as they fall off their mother trees,
a basin of broken bottles and brass,
and a sucker of shards of gruesome glasses,
pins and pointed needles wrestle in me,
filling me, slicing me, oh the glory of it!
like a valley for dumping factory waste
I swallow them all without a vomit.
No doubt, you’re a woman of a round face,
with a huge chest like an umbrella roof,
brown and curly hair, soft and liquid lips,
whose eyes scream like car lights at night.
Yet, I don’t see the beauty of those things
that do not consume me but what I embezzle,
a lion, a tiger, standing in my doorframe.
Those who see me say that I’m a miracle
to survive the silent stitches and internal bleeding,
or for having no grisly bleeding at all.
Rejoice, my dear, rejoice in this season,
It’s great you’re a body and I’m your choice.


Picture

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If I Could See Far

12/2/2025

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Picture
If I could see how far you carry your body,
my life would be one long, endless prayer,

When it can no longer stand this evil lurking,
head high and shoulder high with the light,

How much price you are ready to pay,
when your heart has broken into lumps,

Shedding the blood streaming from your bones;
if I could see in the cold mirror of the sky

What troubled tomorrow holds in store for you
or if tomorrow is among the cold calamities

Whose end has become the needle in my eye;
if I could toss my cards on the sliding ground,

Or watch the crystal glass for a poignant prophecy
into the colours of your night and day

And the contour decorations of your afternoon;
if I could ask questions like a crying child

But receive answers like a grieving adult;
if growing up means reaching the salty stars

Where your destiny sprawls like a lush landscape
or a droll drawing by an amateur best artist;

If all I could do was search the gallery globe
for a glimpse of glory packed on a solitary ship,

Which sails on the Atlantic Ocean in the morning
and is about to anchor in the evening.

When your eyes are yellow, your heart is red,
then let the sparrows sing, the squirrels dance,

And let the seagulls squeeze their bodies for grief
If there’s no God to order your life for a turnaround.

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