A dedication in the market square
Is steering propaganda’s romanticism?
I have transparency, seems less.
In windowpane’s yellow eye
Blinking eyes, their cruelty
And steaming capital.
Without conjugal absurdities,
I have opened the unhinged door,
My brown eye attentively stands up.
A spring next to a sycamore tree, it
Hinders vision leering with detached retina
Outside into the Coliseum, it is barnacle.
And mortar pulsing people, sharply
Shaped, intolerant the image of condoms
Pinstriped pajamas captured warm snow.
Feeding parcels and profits with a question,
“Only tonight the tonalities of
This Vatican ringtone, the disgruntled?”
Locution man’s distribution of course study,
It is an open door to amphibious equinoxes
Served up on a taxable plate of prayer.
Avoiding cracks in the pavement,
I walk Avoiding the distemper of studded steps
Down the door of an interpreting prizefighter.
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