Poetry

Ceaselessly,
the September moon
was sending poems
in quick succession.
 
Life had come to a grinding halt.
 
The walls,
wait to end the race of
stings. The heat was
a dirty yellow.
 
You will witness the fall of a titan.
 
The genome of red
wine grape was
similar to a forgotten
verse, after the―
 
rage of ageing cells of a sage.