kissing rosemary
leaves, falling silently; slow...
The living dead are going to
ask for the right to be...
Blue is the colour of all our clear sky
Gray is the colour of clouds that float by...
It was punctuated night.
You sleep into wakefulness...
This spectrum.
No it will not work...
In searing heat, on
the fern path...
You loosen the grip
and let go the bank...
It was a marathon race of
timeline. The days are bound and shot...
My little dirty moon,
why were you hiding...
Wanting to die young
hairy and unbaked...
Night falls in rings.
The poetry becomes...
The traveler sleeps in a sepulcher,
endlessly, timelessly...