Iron Tusk - Leoniden

lines are drawn, your body hits the light before

the day could ever rise.

iron tusks are empty.

eyes

are closed, the pictures in your mind are false,

you’ll never see the night.

iron tusks are swollen

knives and guns, but their wounds are notional.

knives and guns are subsided iron tusks, but their

wounds are rational.

no graves by metaphors.

all books by folded hands.

all graves by folded

hands.

taste the sun, burn your tongue!

living

as i wanted to.

you said that all is an illusion.

you criticise an uncountable set, there are more

elements than arguments yet.

lines will always

intertwine, if dots are crossed twice.

five dots,

eight lines build a house indeed, but not mine.

it’s

not real.

and can’t you see the…