“Forgetfulness” was a hand God should temporarily give her to guard under trees, for such huge garments lurk for saints who come to mess with the teleology of soil. But instead he planted a leg in her v-a, to walk the golden alley inside my laptop. She had to chew inside “enter”, or a huge wave would soak Sahara like last year. A small fly flew out my left eye as I was thinking of burning earrings. The smell of the oxygen around my boiling saliva was small but strong. Say, remembering of elephant mothering over silver corpses of crocodiles.
Christos Rodoulla Tsiailis
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/100-words-ekatolexon-boiling-saliva/
