Anna Olivia Böke, 2017


fake bittersweetness, sleepless

killing snakes with honey

angels with a loaded gun

pulling the trigger with a split tongue


they twist his guts, it’s corrupt

he’s lost

spit on the national trust

he’s the national garden defence


he’s youthless, useless

heart and mind unaligned

a life behind behind bars

or a painted garden fence?

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