rotten oasis
Treachery abounds, look
inwards! Your bird jangles its small
swing. You’ re getting sleepy, very
sleepy. In a vulnerable tyranny.
Leave for now the marksmen to
their desolations, they ruin everyday
life. & luck can’ t do anything
about the undying devotion of
the undead, putting their backs
to the bus shelter while
crumbs still stick to the dishes.
I guess someone is a king of France & apart
from whom nobody is a king of France. Same
rockstar, different poem. I like icons