Then she approached
With her slightly swollen belly
The vulgar prayer:
“What are your eyes for,
My Lord,
If you can’t see?”
Swished
Past the rifles
Drowned in blood.
The Bat,
Splayed the psalm
On the shot through wing
Before her lips -
Breathe without touching.
She didn’t accept
The Communion bread
Into her mouth, -
Only a languishing penis,
Hung in the light web
Like a feverish baby
Giving orders to Nature
Inside her:
“There we’ll have
The doors of the seething ocean,
Over there-an island
Of her loneliness.”
She leaned her forehead
Against the frosted window,
Caught a glimpse of the
Volcano
Erupting with
Burning horses.
“What is this
Water giving birth for
Since you never part
With this cradle
Of blood and bones,
Steel searching for my nipple?”
***
Ophelia
© Copyright: Сергей Муценко Избранное, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125112202903
Свидетельство о публикации №125112202903
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