Tiny birds live in my throat,
settle into a warm berth
inert until they are stirred.
Awakened, they beat their wings
against fiery walls,
spill from my Kafkaesque mind
biting the ears with bloody
teeth that slice like barber blades
piercing the heart with surreal talons.
What is sacred I swallow.

Karol-Bak-2

art by Karol Bak

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104 thoughts on “awakened

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