A fugitive chameleon sits on my window sill
daily, ceding the space horizon to thickness...

The vertical thought had
jumped on the moon...

I was becoming older every day.
Uncollecting was my mantra...

Death will not measure
the height...

Full of venom the -
sting will break on my breast...

O, how it was that
in freezing embrace...

A silent wrath sits in a pool
of blood, will start a battle...

After seeding the clouds
they were going to buy wet lips...

And there was history
to map the terror. A neoplasm...

There was a portrait under the landscape.
Whispering of clouds...

In cohabiting
a self-denial said...

You go down in the dry pool
foraging for the political errors...