Poetry

Pathways have no boundaries, 
thinker was without a thought. 
Hostile mind refuses to believe 
truth was missing from life. 
From depth to depth measurement had failed. 
God does not know his creation now. 
 
Foolish flesh now burns in thudding bangs 
of dry butter. I want you to touch the 
opaque eyes of eternity. In captivity of 
sighs and groans. You ought to understand 
who was original. There had been free 
invitation to become unfaithful. 
There were masks, gene shifts and longevity. 
 
This evening a drama will be enacted in sky 
by unburnt bras and a black hole. There will 
be thrill. It was easy to bury the skulls among 
floating names. The wreath will be placed 
on the transitional edge of sweetness. 
Which never was.