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THE FATE OF ULYSSES
The bright lights of the night's feathers...
The ointment of a cylindrical prayer is now - Spy aphorism...
My Siamese soul, caressed between a woman's fingers, a stained, fat racket...
In an announcement that no one hears, the old baker sells bodies. Fingers fall from behind every window, a clan cemetery at their tips
The sound of children dying on watery slopes, approaches me in .sandals. I collect my shadow from the strawberry garden.
I find peace in sleep. Young gloom remembers my traces on my feet.
With every opening of a black encyclopedia, I search for my plural face in the pages.
Balloons fill the sky. In the bottle I blow, the ocean breeze...
Someone sings lullabies and my eyes swing in the newborn's cradle.
Copyright ©
BINNAZ YILDIZ
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