at the foot of the mountain blocking the sun, words freeze in the violence of the world.
let my will melt in the coldness of August, shake off the dust of regret when I open the window, looking at you through the rain, a little sad, like tears on the window.
*posted for the first time in August 2019, reviewed in July 2020
I will chisel sentences, like leaves on trees, placed one by one, like commas, between the emotion of their existence and vain attempts, I will place words on the passage of time
At the end of the path, underground thoughts, casting a wide net in order not to miss anything. The basket of ideas is empty, but there are still some strategic crumbs to hold on until the next election.
*posted in July 2019, reviewed in July 2020
In the holey bubble of her memory,
words escape, moments return,
pierce the frail wall of the past
that gave her a first name