ah! Those ecological lies
you can fit utopia in them
And I declare myself an illusion
without geographical definition
Beloved, I exclaim
nuclear truths
for over a million years in death
Someday I will die,
she says,
the reason will be the recycling
and the expensive bags
How many receipts can I stuff
into the declaration of submission?
But maybe this time
I can leave sooner
than the others expect
surely, later than my expectations
even so
I will keep walking the burnt planet
haunted existence
without conscience
Hope
(or otherwise a whore)
for Life
Maria Rodopoulou
From the Book "28 days of landslide"
