Poetry

Vespa,
the live wasp
of paper house,
feeding the insects
to little ones.
 
Silicon valley.
The oranges were very sweet
and carpet beetles
eating away the fabric.
I have come from a faraway place
to taste the blood-stained raisins.
 
Do you know why we bury
our truths? The ancient gods
were very pleased to eat them.
 
The hymns don't tell the lie.