I feel like saying nothing, So, nothing Remains unsaid And burns my brain, my face, my breasts, my body. All is inflamed, and starts to tear to shreds, Where is a magnet that could bring them all And put together back, In random order? I’ll walk then on my face As if was moon reflection in a puddle, My breasts would point proudly to heaven, With machine gun between them. I read once in a book about a painting, I explained, That pictured pointed breasts and machine gun. The author clearly disagreed with artist, I’m also disagreeing with myself, I wake up, every day-hello, the fire I’m all consumed, look, I evaporate. My son, he told me: “We’re building star on Earth, But that might take Another thirty, maybe forty years.” Darling, take whatever’s left of me and use To build that star.
*************
Ask me anything-if you wish.
I’ll try to answer, to the best of my (now very questionable) abilities.
Maybe it’ll be also a kind of a magnet. You know?…
Also.
Very Happy Father’s Day to all who celebrate it.
And: Thank you…
Yours,
Chen/April
..huge thank you for the restack, @Dave pearen-I'm very humbled
Poems from past memories brought forward or from now remembered months you forgot and found?