Creatures of the gone world walk, In measured meters, by dark streams Flowing with the city's vulgar sins. Thinking poems are autumn-falling In criss-cross patches of golden sun.
Actually these are pallid ghosts Pulled out of unlit eastern skies Laughing poems feel like poems On the grassy mounds, children Mimicking toothless laughter, hiding Lots of death-fear knotted around Approaching birthdays in jitters.
Silver manes falling on grey scarves, They laugh their guts out, ha ha, In the club of morning laughter On grassy mounds in sunlit parks. Yellowed skulls hiding in monkey-hoods Hardly hear the world's laughter.
