Poezja

You went blank on the line
between sand and water,
between seizure and assault.
The tribes have unwrapped their torches,
they are coming in numbers.

Who was going on trial?
Fierce fidelity is demanding vendetta.
The drummer announces the fight.
Justice parts the lips for
peace against tragedy!

The golden voice caves in.
Time moves as a profane octopus -
suckers clasping on the vital stomata.
Green blood oozes from eyes.
The truce was transient.

Childless earth throws up the flames.