Poetry

Lashing out at invisible enemies 
you focus on virtue test – 
 
putting the ethics into incarceration, 
when you ask to dip the hand 
 
in boiling oil. Epiphany, a magnus 
tells, gives a sensual arousal. 
 
Without you I was fighting 
graffiti on no-name lips. 
 
The green eyes were watching. A 
terse detergent suicide.O my 
 
architect, what game you are playing 
with a child who refuses to become a father.