her paintings are on display
in the gallery’s endmost room
where there are only dull bulbs
and long, timid shadows
away from the greedy eyes
away from the greasy hands
away from the eco idiots
armed with their cup-a-soups
her paintings are on display
in the endmost of memories
where there is only yearning
for the might-have-been past
where sweet melancholy slumbers
where there’s no desire for awakening
where a soft nightsong is
sung by cicada ensemble
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
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