Summer half over
Dusty feet in worn sandals
Show my ten brown toes

of things to say. Don't have room
inside a page. The page runs
like a river. And flows into the oceans
called, a liver of a life so stalled.

I don't run out
of anger. Long-tailed like a
langur following me from tree
to tree. I can't seem to
catch a breeze.

I don't run out
of sorrow. I've some for
today, but more for tomorrow.

Handing out wings

like they were portions of God

this narrow asphalt

made by architects of tourism

movers of time and space

reaching out like insane astronauts or genius heretics

breathing our iodine

becoming halogens

the sky moves sideways

dystrophic airwaves

feeble beacons

eerie radio silence

here come more perils from the sky

Words a child can tell his parents are:
I didn't ask to be born,
You have not done me a favour to bring me up.
I hate you.
13/9/2022

autumn leaves bed holds
song of gold to lay me down
kisses by cold breeze


Shell ✨🐚