advanced mathematics
rests as lazy brushstrokes
of abstract paintings
yet to come
the master is something inbetween
of a young intimidating prodigy
and the oldest alocohlic drifter
like the same story
from two different viewpoints
the heroes are a swarm of women
dispelling the curse
in truthful words of rejection
like soft death;
”It wasn’t your fault”
the demon looking down on life redeems himself in the everyday life which blurs eternity by small acts of kindness no one else would ever notice