Eyes in the trickled stream
quiet inspirations to a quill pen- holds
of a high protection in its feathery shield

black and white- across the cavalry patrolling
against otherwise rebellious thoughts
desperately trying to ignore those ill voices
that speak to me

The story of the poet who killed a billion
pigeons, to dip their feathers in an ink, to
cope with all the insanity that rest at his brink