“Forgetfulness” was a hand God should temporarily give her to guard under trees, for such huge garments lurk for saints who come to mess with the teleology of soil. But instead he planted a leg in her v-a, to walk the golden alley inside my laptop. She had to chew inside “enter”, or a huge wave would soak Sahara like last year. A small fly flew out my left eye as I was thinking of burning earrings. The smell of the oxygen around my boiling saliva was small but strong. Say, remembering of elephant mothering over silver corpses of crocodiles.<br /><br />Christos Rodoulla Tsiailis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/100-words-ekatolexon-boiling-saliva/
