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Torments granted by gras

Photo © 2012 by Natalia Drepina

Author's Comments

I want to sleep the sleep of apples,

far from the tumult of cemeteries.

I want to sleep the sleep of that child

who longed to cut out his heart at sea.

I don’t wish to hear that the dead lose no blood;

that the shattered mouth still begs for water.

don’t wish to know of torments granted by grass,

nor of the moon with the serpent’s mouth

that goes to work before dawn.


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