Poetry

The odor brings the 
neo-violence, along the fault line. 
 
Standing on the road. 
 
You, 
do not want to go right, or left. 
 
Chemoreceptors will warn about 
the incoming quake. 
They will crush the blooms, the 
corrupt winds. 
 
The landscape was changing. 
The unlikeness, when you come 
back from woods. 
 
You do not mean anything. 
Words don’t convey the full meaning. 
The thoughts will find a poem.