Turns me on
I will write a poem.
Delirious moon had
picked me up from under the skin.
The safety pin was broken,
now a crowd will disrobe me.
Everytime when my pain makes you cry
oranges are not meant for the sale.
A collegium will stich up the wound.
Once upon a caste the country will go.
• On reading Orange Crush of Simone Muench.
Rains Are Coming
Sleep me, conceive me like sphagnum;
propel me to essence of death.
Seeing has put me behind the truth,
Like centipede, fear crawls in deep blind cave
throwing the feelers.
The gene has faltered. No red lights.
A paw, a blackboard, white lines
message is not clear.