Walking out of the body
I was drowned,
accepted and condoned
by depth of sorrow.
A wide circle of testosterone
giving pardon to a sin becomes sexless.
You were overwhelmed by the missed beats.
Your prosaic crime of not fathering the words
becomes a belly dance for wrinkled verses.
There was no meaning left for the artifacts,
the national shame.
Autumn was praying for the well-being
of pine needles in fog.
Repetition of the outbursts was cold
and I was smiling...
