by atma anna christ


The needles on her body talking her solitude

Tattoos around the arms of the priest

Room full of demons demanding for blood




Human condition?

Demonic formation?

Angelic cloud?

On the side street so much lavender cut

from a garden thrown away

Trains buses subways as the dance goes on

As maps of consciousness are drawn on computer screens

As lovers disappear in parallel universes…


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