Poetry

I see it coming 
the end before the beginning. 
Of dawn. 
The midnight call. 
 
Impeachment was fragile. 
A satanic cult 
overwhelms the freedom 
of negation. 
 
Do yoy think we can 
move the tree of wisdom 
from the altar of ethics 
sending shots to the sky. 
 
From the grief of paradoxes 
Can you run away? One 
moment you exhibit the caked blood. 
Next moment it is dark. 
 
•
 
Standing on crossroad, 
do we end the walk 
and wait for rumbling 
surge of anarchy? 
 
The anguish is writ 
large on the tanned sun 
who was moving along with 
porcupines. 
 
The wild berries 
have colored the skull caps. 
Swarms of red ants 
are running behind the heels.