Poezja

He was no longer angry 
writing his own epitaph. 
Fighting a singular brute 
without repeating himself. 
 
Midnight. Untouchable moon 
drops the ear-ring. 
A mottled face worships 
a ladder expressionlessly. 
 
A monk walks past an 
oversexed monkey. 
A hidden agenda in end, 
shows a dirty hand. 
 
 
You know, I do not want 
to tame an exploding - 
navel. Transfixed I throw 
the bottle in a sea. 
 
One more parakeet dies 
in my hands. How do I catch 
a flying saucer in the 
alien body.?