Capitalism's lie — crossed out
with fire,
with spirit, —
with chalk,
Poetry is crossed out —
with a click,
with a stamp,
with the letter of the law,
with an example.
You read a line —
you see a word.
"Drug"?
Then — a charge.
But what I wrote about the screen,
about the stadium,
about the lie, —
doesn't matter.
What matters to them —
to be complicit in the false,
safe.
Poetry —
is dangerous.
Especially that kind
about light,
about lapta,
about the strike back.
They cross it out — by hand,
systemically.
So you don't think,
so you don't see,
so you sit
in isolation,
with an open date,
everything deaf.
And the moderator —
stands in black, the same referee,
blows his whistle.
He has eyes,
but doesn't see the truth.
Cross it out.
Cross it out.
Cross it out.
Poetry is crossed out
© Copyright: Максимильян Мельков, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126080306141
Свидетельство о публикации №126080306141
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