Poetry

Abdicating the shadows; 
totemic. 
I return back to dig up the buried- 
moon from the ruins of poetry. 
 
It benumbs. 
No response was coming from 
cajoling the black secrets- 
of time-cast. 
 
A storm was raging in a pack 
of emptiness. Like a dead fly 
between the pages of skulls. 
I couldn't find the exact words. 
 
The religion of wish-lists. 
Can you find the end of desires? 
From thought to thought- 
was there any vision?