The shadows of the trees speak to me with a fearless futility
A chant to step into the transfixing traffic with a tripping twist
Fall beyond the black burnet of their being and see the beguiling burden unfold:

The sky encroaches tightening its grip, making the mind slip
Painted with a varnishing brush dipped in tenebrous charcoal
It drips a tear that plummets a ripple on the skin

A betrayal of the collapsing concealment
A desolate obsidian smeared beneath the eye, across the hand
It heeds the damage of a veil of soot and the pallid bruise of the soul.

A tangled cloud unravels from the pipe like the hum of a spinning fan,
A nocturnal whisper. Its sheen of banishment masked by the drown
Of sirens as two carnations drift down the charcoal water of a river.