Poezja

While drinking the long night 
you became taller than the eternal 
question, bitten by the moon. 
 
Witchhunting will not stop 
in oligarchy. A human right 
stands on the ivory gate to enter the dust. 
 
The weightlessness is paraded 
nude amongst the full-lipped 
follies of ornamental speech. 
 
The duende was lacking in palace. 
Rivals held the moonlight. 
Now the muse will become celibate. 
 
A giant mantis hops on a podium 
to bless the dying god, and the candle 
burns whole night.