damned pubs, buffets
crumbling plaster from the lunettes
on the heads of those whose
eyes are in printer’s ink
soles full of holes
In front of the exchange of days
booze has a deceptive exchange rate
an arrest warrant for the starved desires
to the local captives of the indifference
in vain in the snow slush
looking for their tracks.
Meanwhile here
as if the entire number line belonged to us
like me, you hold hands with the world
smile on the spot
Us the rioters singing odes to morality,
pampered with starched duvets,
we dissolutely count time though experiences,
middle fingers to the conventions stay hidden in the pockets.
the poor rich
we drink mulled wine and we tear from lángos
busy at the synapses
is life fair?
lions on the chain bridge
will not speak without a tongue
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