Poezja

You are trying to
seel the half-truths
in terror.
 
 
In the fear of-
annihilation, you
want to remain unborn.
 
 
The pity of unnaming
the pain, your body wrapped
in tinfoil- ready to be roasted.
 
 
The barren spirituality-
and nudeness-
of ecstasy.Do you think you were floating
 
like a cadaver?
Who will drink
the arsenic now?
 
The miracle.
I am legless and I move
swiftly to catch the words.