tender palms of a leafless tree
pick up the severed head of a voice
rolling in the mud
after a public execution
it is painful to be bald in cold nights
but the moon is raining love
that would keep one warm,
probably.
molten expressions
deformed sentiments
dripping life
underneath a shimmering pole.
is it brutal of me to watch?
or is it beautiful, really ?
I am stuck in wrong kind of equilibrium
stability is downhill everywhere
and I hate to tumble.
is it necessary ,really ?
