Way.
Lubomír Tomik
all
we drowned in her eyes
all
we starved in the desert sand
all
we are travelers in the mist on the moonbeams
the sun went down
and when it comes out
will burn anyone's feelings with a wave
all
all
silver reprimands of time
they bite pieces of meat out of everyone's backs
You are smiling
what else is left
way.
Not the target.
Way.
Midian Poet 