Poetry from abroad

ImageEye of the storm
Ten minutes to heaven
Abstract love and heady wine
Writers of poetry never
Sleep on airplanes
And winners of fortune never
Bet on a Wednesday
My mother was a tiger
And my father made of sand
We were all born late in winter
Never walked upon dry land
We all melted into glass
Fused together
Like a burnt and wary accident
On a Tuesday when
No one showed up for work
I was all smiles on Monday
When my father drove me home
By the weekend I was parentless
Naked and alone
I worked through all my problems
I dismissed them one by one
I was allowed to have some fun
I walked the streets at night
Ran naked in the sun

An enemy of the state
A child on the run
A dozen or so fallen by the wayside
You, for one
A basilisk, a shadow
A nymph or satyr, demon not
Truth and fiction
Beauty beyond reason
In bed I lie
In the morning I steal
For you I felt nothing
As for me, nothing was real


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