Poetry

The path disappears 
under the foot. 
Gently I lay down the book 
and start reading the blank page. 
 
Stainless thoughts.I strip to root. 
A stunning revelation 
about a tinned dialogue. 
 
Blue hydrangeas 
were telling something. 
It was time to become insane 
on the street. 
 
The lust, 
the sex 
creeps into the sect. Religion was a proxy 
to kill, to achieve a stop. 
 
going nowhere.