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oppositional poetry, prose, polemic

Peycho Kanev
the world lies down on its back
and waits
for me to penetrate it
butt I sniff at the stench and the rottenness of the centuries
and say to Her:
child, ah, you are only a child
and outside on the street the little girls
are playing, not yet turned into women
crazy enough to break down each man
me?
I am thinking about the paintings of Caravaggio
looking at the left hand
remaining silent to the right.
Peycho Kanev © 2009