Poezja

Sailing, 
triangulating the body. 
I will not come for the false blues. 
 
You dig out the bones- 
to evaluate the sickle, 
that failed to trim the dark. 
 
The murder was clean. 
A religion lies beheaded. 
Anaerobic, the poem survived. 
 
The animal smell, 
stays.Overpowers the limbs. 
You run blindfolded. 
 
The crickets emit an omen. 
A sulfur burns. 
The yellow sun was rising.