"You are a fire-burning blood, ready in the dark, chewing diction before it is silent, just chop the fetus the day before poetry."
Kugores more wild figures in blackened minds. All the roots of the darkened darkness of nuju immersed in a million waves. Youth meet me.
"Peel me, sliced my fingers to where this fetus is."
That night, wild figures ran across the wound patching my holes. Alphabets do not want to. People with flames swarmed. Spewing bingtang-star carcass. They want my neurons! Oh, maybe it will be his rain too my heart that kupiara in the eyes of ghosts.
I hurriedly cut the poems
Pompong kugas loose. ahhh ...
a daughter sambangi. Her eyes night. The smile of the moon. Her head had a thousand searoma dreams. I thought light, what's this? Tuhankah who embodies every curve of numbers in the jasmine dangle?
Woman hundred tongue dijari. A thousand daggers are sweating at heart. "This rotting fish is mine." Rancid already. His hands skinned the head of the noble.
People huddled together. This time puking me with stone.
Maybe my heart that I keep in the smell of ghosts will be buried too.
O!!
How many more numbers should I read?
