I Admit, I Was, Mystified, a Poem

State of mind, translated…

The Cacophonous Thunder Came Down on the Conceptual Doze

The Poems are Read, Little, by Little

A Little Aesthetics of the Violence is Moral

Taking Out that Prepared and Hidden Small Knife

Slowly, Cut Down at Perforated Creases

mesmerized here, not my photograph…

Like Severing the Lungs and Dreams of a Siamese Twins

Careful, Don’t Let it Stick, Salsa is Not a Defective Product

The Fuzzy Sides of the Paradox Leaned Toward the Coastlines of Mysticism

You Can’t Avoid from Peeping at It

The Point of Opening is the Parameter of Doubts

The Post-Modern “the Zipper that’s, Hidden on the Surfaces”

Opening Up What Was Inside, the Words and Sentences Showed Themselves Bluntly

The Images Hysterically Appeared

someone’s heart in someone else’s hands, not my picture…

Looking Forward, Worrying Later

The Finger Tips Rubbed Against Each Other, the Souls

Seeping Out the Aromatic Scents

The Heart, Danced the Salsa

There’s this vivid imagery of the bloodied world that this poet had painted, and, I guess, that should be, mystifying, even, SHOCKING, to someone who’s never, seen something so raw, getting exposed to oneself………

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