a dying animal howling on one side
with its face blue
of the people
it has known nothing but skin and powder
with its organs living in other happily married corpses
what a masquerade must I be to all
and my songs giggling, tickling
the insides of happily married men kissing their wives.
Cristina Mogildea enjoys writing on ambivalence and the candid minuscule spaces that make up its entirety. Fond of black coffee and French literature.