Like a wild-bush,
Frenzied on growing,
My empirical designation,
Of self-implosion
Falls like Berlin walls,
And Stalin statues,

I wonder if the night can see like me,
Or if the daunting blue figurines of my watch,
Dance like the dozy white flakes of a cold winter storm,

In the midsts of battle we learn decisiveness and impending insanity,

Summer heat brings showers of agony and glimpses of pleasure,

Like fleeing from some unearthed Hell we forged ourselves in,

The Earth she moans to the dark strands of nowhere,

"Please take me home." She cries