Poetry

Tainted blood 
cruising in wrong legs. 
You stomp on the golden leaves 
of the fallen tree - 
who will not go with the 
winds. 
 
A pregnant pause. 
The storm was raging at the corner. 
Put down the light, 
put down the light; 
hold on the road signs. 
 
There is a reverse calm 
inverse silence 
between eyes and heart!