Poezja

Wearing a straitjacket
you come out in open.
This was a black day.
You were not invited.
 
The economy smells of stale fever.
 
A pungent smoke rises
from the joints.
 
A decision drifts. Scare of
paper bomb stills―
the flow of tea.
 
There was a party.
People come and go. Skullcaps
galore. White on brown sugar.
 
There is no love lost between us.