Poetry

Holding the ladder 
I was hungry 
looking at the waiting dawn. 
 
Raw landscape: 
narcissism 
forages the belly. 
 
Picking up the figs 
from passion flowers. 
Is that right? 
 
Can you sow the seeds 
on a cloud? 
Unclothed words? 
 
Stealthily 
a guerilla smashes 
a summary of centre. 
 
A falconer 
releases a prey 
to feed an anarchy.