Soot was thickening.
The fugitive wants to come back.
This was not my day. A psychoactive.
This was not your day.
The earth needs a pause to think about
life studies. But Buddha sleeps.
A Sylvia Plath takes
turn. You want to bloom anger against
the opioid sleep in sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great philosophy write in its utter brevity... appreciated and admired.