the salt #3/a lament

the past days of the salt
a present days in the Sodom.
feeble recollections have
turned into the intoxicating self pity,
an expired glory,
yet disintegrated from the memory.

a hoarse lament,
that moaned from the cordless throat
of an unborn specimen
doomed to be fed,
to the hungry desert
that drinks tears and devours flesh.

till the lighting
will strike the surface
and the ground will arc,
like a body,
a virgin is at her prime.

but till then,
count the bodies
singing laments.


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