Marcjanna.
I never met a individual by that name.
So imagine, darling, that there is specified
My good stranger, what, somewhere, he,
on the border of existence, and hidden,
Tears from the inside, scrapes from the body,
essence, with all my energy, all the flaws,
is like a flesh-shaped mortar for crushing
And rubbing. You've got to get free of a woman,
no substance what features,
Looks like she's a man of ribbons,
whose only stableness consists of material stripes,
So she's not a constant,
In fact, it is the opposite.
I haven't been to a single mine.
So, behind the invisible curtain,
I'm going deep underground now
in a crumpled, gibberish on all sides
elevators to throw into the bottomless bar
The luggage I brought with me:
bag in which the chaotic animal rests
(I want to believe and I will defend this, possibly a small
irrational, believing it's dead,
not just dormant).
Marcjanna's tapeworm continues to drag mine
independent, dance, Polish slave
At Kali's court, covered in steaming intestines.
Oh, what an ugly punch.
