Poetry

Without narrating
yourself, when and how
will you perform the ritual suicide?

Blindfolded, I
open the destiny of man.

Your thoughts make a hole
in the giant feet.

Who would let me, be dark,
to find the light of truth?
O God, take me to wilderness to embark on my journey back,
or become a tree man.

Let the tree-hugging start again.

Very prudently, I need to color my eyes.
Don't want you to begin crying.