The maddening crowd
quiets our laments
and we sink into
a consoling chaos.
The sunflowers
are all look-alike sisters
Without their father around
they are teased by bees
who tickle them in mouth.
The sun is too hot.
The moon serves the earth
like a concubine
with philosophical scars.
Earth carries his mirror
in her pocket.
But oceans don't like to dance
to the tune of this celestial whore
every calendar month
No, I don't have the audacity
to reaffirm the lost cause again
There are hits and misses
Bull's eyes are below
its fucking horns always
.
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