The political devil has farted
that’s a kind of night of mind
he moved the chamber pot
to his mouth, he always burns
turns into ashes what he touches
suddenly blackens new myths
and new dreams are shrinking
the image of the image is sleeping
in the stone. Why must she sleep?
The truth shall not kill us
the political devil lubricates us
with lies as the sponge does
the thirsty mouth of Jesus
with crude oil. I don’t know
where I shall still go after illusions
after new possibilities of life.
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