The pain wants me to speak the words,
but I want to listen like winds and keep back the thoughts.
I refused to move from the scene.
God was bleeding and his dolls were strewn around
on marble floor, broken, dismembered.
No tree was safe now.
The sky had cracked off the light.
I cannot reach.
The dark thing shoves in, from a precipice,
I am falling, falling!
The pomegranate blossoms?
Where are they?
I am not afraid of a terrorist.
I fear more the shape of the humanoid eyes
they are red, very red!
