Zeus,
I tithe:
your might,
delivers me,
timely,
to the light.
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Reading: M – Black Monday by Marcin Świetlicki
Today there is this compact poem by Marcin Świetlicki for our ideosyncratic Polish: przedzieleni światłem. I think it is a brilliant metaphor for its strangeness and its re-interpretation of loss as the completion of 'everything'. The poem says nothing about the woman's motives to reject her suitor (I assume the gender because the author is ...
We work at night
The air is standing tired a strong white light pierces it, but never encounters anything such is the space we are in Time is an old friend at the door who must wait until we fix what we will be broken to-night because of that light hitting us But the hours didn't count the hours ...
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