by Marcin Malek
It does not hurts
only hands
are sore from writing
carefully punctured numbers
will reveal
origin secret of puppet
dressed festively
as an Easter bowl
I would scream
oh how I would scream
but there are children’s at home
and the silence so rarely
runs through my hall
I feel revulsion to the core
to all those places
anniversaries and celebrations
I'm simply disgust with
inaccurately shaved meat
and I just can't stand
a color and shape of
veterinary supervision stamp
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Marcin Malek (born February 24, 1975) in Warsaw, Poland) is a Polish/Irish poet, writer, playwright, journalist, photographer. Published in: „Fronda”, „Tygiel Kultury”, „Akcent”, „Nowe Państwo”, „Stosunki Międzynarodowe”, „Opcja na prawo”, Leinster Express, Winner of the annual award of "Poetry&Paratheatre" journal (category: poem of the Year) for year 2012, (work: „Bieg – Czyli list do współczesnych”/"Run - a letter to the present"). Since 2006 lives in Ireland.
Last updated October 02, 2015