Skylit my bright atrium, pumps the future.
Which becomes the today righting the wrongs.
I want to go back to my ancient furrows, hibernate and sleep.
Let the life bloom on dead words.
In vitro a tiny face smiles.
Pink petalled a crooked moon goes up in the sky.
Tangled thoughts resume the search
perceiving the depth of the subway.
The waves splash on the rocks madly.
Celebrating my defeat, I burn my books.
Cannot follow any path.
Lonely I trace my truth in sands.
Wind communicates the disaster.
Still my hands break the branches, snap the thorns, bleeding.
