|
I drink poison and carry my snakes regularly, not frequently.
The poison runs coarsely through my mind, doesn’t hurt me.
It may run roughly, harsh, or run softly, bitter biting,
It may take some hours to take its course,
Shaking my brain, quaked hips, trembling limbs.
I’m followed by signs and meet devils I have to get rid off,
And new words in a new language, new thoughts.
I meet them with sick friends but we shall recover,
For our hands are not helpless, death went before,
And this word is confirmed in the company of signs.
|
| 
Printable Version