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ROES
in the morning while I
scream my number
from the balcony
I pay the fee
and enter the museum:
the roe's eyes -
calcinated tears
with fine sandpaper
faceted
the dry hoves -
terraces sans earth
on which i lie
tucked in the ticket
and so the flooring sings
below my dream
the forest rustles
the roe has dots
instead of hearing
five lines and fluff...
© Vesselina Sarieva
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© E-magazine LiterNet, 21.04.2009, № 4 (113)
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