An Elegy for Summer
This is euphoria: the art of painstakingly purging blistered and withered melanin. This is apocalypse: the wait, waiting and waiting for the tear of vapours, of sweat and oil. Summer is judgement season, death and resurrection.
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The Magician
the future is always at stake
he better plays his cards right
perfect his sleight of hand
devise a plausible distraction
vanish his fear and anxiety
for reality is always tricky
enchantment can be illusory
written on his palms are nothing
but a history of uncertainties
embrace
he better plays his cards right
perfect his sleight of hand
devise a plausible distraction
vanish his fear and anxiety
for reality is always tricky
enchantment can be illusory
written on his palms are nothing
but a history of uncertainties
embrace
possibilities
in impossibilities
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