There was no need of a sharp knife
in Calvaria...

Turn the corner
and you will find, some dark figures...

It in now dark.
Talking of exposed genitalia...

An evening primrose glides,
on my rough hands...

The matrix drinks the words,
in the anonymity of opaque meanings...

Choice was washing the guilt
or keeping mind shut...

I missed the heartbeats for a vessel of stars,
while death was always near...

While going my way, searching an eternal flame
I confront an extraordinary trauma...

Pathways have no boundaries,
thinker was without a thought...

A hand wipes away the dried tears,
chemistry working...

On the road
negotiating a midnight blue...

A pithy moon
climbs...