Poezja

Building your space, 
you were dying daily 
invading the acoustics. 
 
How the continence 
was going to help- 
living with scars of explosions? 
 
Mutating into a full-fledged 
saintliners, an inner conflict 
becomes a profile. 
 
Crawling to a stone 
a crayon draws a cell 
without incendiary rhetoric? 
 
Decoding an icon 
becomes a daily ritual. From 
where will come the write?