Pigments on rocks were darkening.
Violence had permeated like skunk...

A fugitive slice of moon
was preparing to leave...

Let's not go,
let's not reach anywhere...

In a death-trap of a stadium,
as if I am stoned to death...

Prepare the bed
of the liquid art...

Again the panic grips.
Clones from the frozen cells of rot-scented...

I recognized the vitriol.
There was blood on your hands...

That tribal instinct sits in the denial.
Words fly in fog carrying absurd meanings...

I will deceive the immortality
in my inadequacy, between myself...

He was wading through the frozen pain
unhappy at himself...

The green hills are drinking
the clouds...

Priests of cave temple
go to sleep. Street urchins...