Too late in our efforts
to give love so adequately,
hoping to be loved back
do we realize
what was given back sufficiently
were mere lies
for they were more efficient
and the truth was,
we were never loved

I refuse to underrate
the fog, its arithmetic,
bleaching the dark
words in twilight.

Indelible memory.
You don't behave yourself
writing furiously the names
of god in air.

Song was tongueless.
You could hear the nuances
of cords in rhythm.
Without listening you go
into bliss.

The blue rocks. Black birds
come in groups to commit
shared suicide on the
burning earth.

The dangling moon
behind the ornate gate
waits for beheading.

*

Indeed I had
called you in dark to change
the name of slaughter.

*

Blood tastes salty,
when words were sweet, slicing
the white lilies.