Poezja

Leave something for me to imagine. 
A skeleton in a pond 
leaps to the moon. 
 
In an air bubble 
lies the history of a suspended 
name, wasted away on water. 
 
A war is declared on the 
family of words, not spoken 
to anguish of man. 
 
I thought of my sun 
averting a disaster. The sprouts 
will not come out of the earth. 
 
An enquiry into the nature of 
immanence, leads to starvation. 
The body of truth turns into a snake. 
 
The revolution within, shows 
a false victory. You start again 
from the ugly fingers.