Swagazine #3

One half  by Rogozhin
One half
of one percent
of us

owns
ninety percent

of the wealth.

Wetlands stalked
by camera eyes
in dying days

brace for a long,
long night.

In the howl
of winded reeds,
of feral manes,

in the thrilled-to-be-dying
blood

of rivers running
though stone --

petrified years

wait tongue-less
for the life

that defers
lies,

and die.
 

 

 

 


poetry

    
prose

Smooth as a shadow
Fireflies
Cat Poems
Coils
Darkness
  Nothing to be
Rubber Woman
White Walled Cell
French Quarter
One half
  Midnight Rant
Untitled
Melt me
Sex
    
Time Babe
Glue
A Story
Ram Nam

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