IT'S BLOWING

The draft groaned
in my chest bin
and between lungs
somebody's knocking.
Sheding through aorta
red and dry wine
and in the heart halls
it's heavily blowing.

Tickling my stomach
by gastric juices
pretending butterflies
with a good hearts
pankreas yesterday is
the rainbow throwing
and happily playing
with happiness cards

In heart chambers snow
a pieces of dust
from hearttouching corpses
burned by the candle
On top of my tongue
not bitter not sweet
and in my soul hard is
opened space handled.

So it's blowing inside
through little slot
and during the rain
the floor is like a shadow
I clean up the floor
using the sky
and in the next heart attack
i buy plastic window.