One crisp scaffold.
Was it possible that it became generous?
For the street which turns
the mutation into xenograft.
I pretend to be which I am not
for fear of dying daily or sleep no more
in the lineage of hope. The gallows
are set on every corner.
I walk behind blackness to hear
the steps of moon in exile for vindication
of sober sins against the sky. The blue
souls were going to release the verdict.
