The Apocrypha between Strangers

Every time you spoke to me it felt like you aerated me.

Every gesture, ingratiating yourself, with your dilapidated

Words, overthrowing me, circadian, pressured, my hands

Wouldn’t find their way to my ears. The heart is the easiest target.

Never emetic. Always eroded. From the outside. Never touched. Always

Detected. The weak lollop around its capabilities, it sees the best in every

Single approach and ornament. The heart never gets anxious, no, it’s the

Head and its submissive images to the outside. Infiltrated, the hyperbolic grove

Of orange spitfires and fuel, the blanket swallowed by the epileptic tempest,

Mummified, suffocating, vibrant in the darkness and cinnamon diseases.


“Lilac / Siren” by Mikhail Vrubel (1856-1910)

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