Poetry

You receive when
you don't ask,
celebrating the soul
with mind.

The matter, the blurred
awareness was made
of tiny faults.

The fabric breaks
in yes or no. Pricks draw
the blood of million screams.

The moon catcher blights
himself. Flowers
pull up the roots. Nowhere to go.

The shadows close
the windows. You grope
in dark, searching the right
word or answer.

Don't turn your head.
Pathways are sinking.