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  • Kristiana Roemer

Virgin Soil



In the heart of the meadow we said our goodbyes. Our sun here had been gutted. Our fruit here is dry. No more life left, nor thought, but the cue that it’s time. So you plunged for your freedom. First you jumped —  Then I.


I awoke… to a place of sweet, sad acid trips A bustling oasis Dreams licking their lips Highs of vast stimulations and a fierce solitude Lost in bitter isolation among shrill altered hues Muffled grunts of the herd  driven to the back row along with the moths  of our barren meadow.


I search you in the crowd but you’ve fallen elsewhere. And I, I must go on swimming through this grand athmosphere.


We both found our theatrical paradise. But beyond physical logic, by fortunate ties, I know we are bound. In dream-state I know that we have common ground.


I remember a place a sere distant glow not a touch without sound


our meadow.

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