VICTIM OF LIFE

Under peeled skin this substance of life, this

elongated voice crying out to the heard in a

background of darkness; this calling of veins

where words are like music

and this pulse of the heart crying out with

eyes as distant as the sky.

Those who see it might only be the spirits of

the dead, window shopping in the avenue of

hope; former rogues of destiny looking

for another chance.

The earth spreading out like a memory.

Obviously there’s been some sales on in the

course of time. For those not so competent

swimmers falling in for any new limp or

organ classic is just another pretext to

enslave us all. Some even select

a pet for a mate.

In this corporeal parade for further

enlightenment anyone I guess can become a

victim of life.

Poems by Dennis Dinopoulos published in Indika: