Timeless I dream about a sleepwaking into death, inside me.
Lifting in sound and the wet silence.
The boisterous stream of years
rolls down like the debris of earthquake from the hill.
Life casts out the pretentions, throws the tears at my gate.
That was not me, the smoke from the footprints, the failed virtue.
Black sweat of my arms started, the disposition of blind truth.
The enquiry provoked a further dialogue
between time and sun tanned cancer of a city.
The death of a whistle blower.
In the stillness of mind,
I enter to meet the mauled self.
In the wordless flesh a drama unfolds.
The tongue fixes the blame of a desireless god
sees only a shining darkness of a suspended faith.
And a mad fadeout, amputates the linear thoughts.
