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segunda-feira, 25 de maio de 2020

raison d'etre

just a promisse unkeep
that lingers
in a unknow raison d'etre

the leap,
to which all
relentlessly surrenders

at dusk

servant of the slime, from the damp prison cell

i learned my lesson well

this time


is now scalloped in every features

sinisters sisters

came to pay us promises

with their wide open veins

where wise men once spoke with indiference

calling out for a cure, in deliverance

to makes us forget

that we're at the edge
 (of a shipwreck everyday)

a letal dose to stumble, eye to an eye to supress this fray

challenging those men to deny their evasing treads

- to defy all distorted voices in a call

The Trapeze, by Max Beckmann (1923)

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