Poetry

Everything was in place,
and I started to find-
the kingpin, door by door.

Wanted to know more about the death,
when you were struck in silence-
of blackness.

Displaying the art of kill. It has
an ancient throw of fangs.
I am ready to catch the blues.

All day the hibiscus has
been bleeding. I will never
disappoint the skin of the pilgrim.

Oh pink eyes. Sometimes
I wonder, why this shade rests
after wedding a celibate.