Poezja

A hoot at midnight 
goes challenging the deaf. 
You strip to bones. 
 
The dawn persists: 
Will the sun on the sea 
kill the dreams? 
 
Do you see the gap 
between the clouds? 
I am going to make a heap of 
all the interstitial escapes. 
 
Flesheaters were scrawling on 
the cheeks. A revolution of 
wheels has failed. 
 
A baby dies in womb 
without A leap into future. 
The father carries the burden 
of chimneys. 
 
A godless moon laughs 
at the stupid earth, 
which was talking about stars.