by Ece Apaydin
Primarily I trotted round the sterling light on my neck
as a spider then I turned off
I said I will there where you would like to arrive
my mind! my sheep pen is a rehearsal hall
- I keep on my skirt
Open the fire pleat. He will stop by and pass in haste
he will light a cigarette
in the private compartments of those grinding spider
he will kick the garbage yes he will kick
the fire will embrace to a punitive match
will the stage open its pleats to us?
- He is no one, no provision !
The child, they are the coils of the rains
what’s the odd
from the bad temper of a pain binded to sky ? Bridges and towers
the repentance of that of your old roulette
russian novels. Mikhalkov
looks at the mouth of the sky the rehearsal halls
- yes yes nestlings!
Whereas none of them are comforting me now
none of them are as close as this light
there is a button on my neck to snuff out the life
another button to draw the curtain
I know there will also be different buttons
a half French. peckish crimson lights
biting crimson lights!
- that is unbottoning my buttons
from the seat that I have been watched -
Kid, salute me for once.
Last updated June 12, 2016