Poetry

This kitsch
makes you hollow,
kleptomaniac.
You become blind in green
ready to make a dumb leap
from tall cliff.

Contempt for climactic throats.
The man walks on water
to meet death in icebox.

Pink torch like royal command signals,
black white moon enters a sober cloud
beyond the vibrations.

Now was the chance to kill
the light, fixing the graves.
One day the laughter was alive.