Zaltusinel
Novelist and Word Whisperer
On backbones, on shields
became the ear of truth.
People come to his shop,
lusting more in avid faces.
Maple trees fallow on the hill,
to base themselves on green waters, sour beach sands and pale skies.
The hotel reservation is over, the
vacation is over, long ago.
We make the travel to grandma’s house.
How can we repent?
We remember not to,
to do ourselves’ greed.
Base thyself on truth.
