Poetry

Now comes the visual 
separation after the fall of an 
enemy. The urbanite 
crumble has begun. 
 
The needles in eyes are hurting 
the milk. Do you play 
a Chinese game? 
The depressive psychosis- 
 
will throw the shackles around 
you. Honey, you have 
a trace of lead inside. I want 
a silk covering on the arrows. 
 
Dip a child on street 
and you will create a skipper.