broken

in the middle of a night

in weidling

when the night is clear

of chemtrails

even in the poet’s room

of 2,7 x 4,4 metres

you’ll sense the local air

the memory blanks off

like scales fall from eyes

and all don ffp2-masks

yet/ if you wish to stay

creatively motivated

take my seven year file

of production/ the artist

said to his shadow

there – in all the past

seven years

you’ll find no faces

without a mask/

in the early morn’ of the

new day

the poet’s laptop Len –

lost its –ovo.

unhinged it had a self-

inflicted rest

so then leave it until

the shops will open/ so?

when?

meanwhile a plaster for

the broken limb

and gentle handling

carry on with what you

have

for an artist’s living.

broken.nekorb

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.