A potato with glue on crab's claws
eternit staircase
two senses still working refuse to admit
there is something unpredictable about the obvious.
Morning sighs, collects the actors' glasses.
Someone is going to take out the trash again today.
The openings of the senses will be filled,
and someone will cry
over the poop of a newborn.
Tuesday, April 23, 2024
"Poop of a Newborn" (New Poem, 23.04.2024).
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