The yellow bony grass unwillingly slides
into the full shade of winter.
Don’t you see, my darling?
Not even the shriveled sayings of the wise can shelter
the swift, sharp rising of
this echo hounded, cosmic blast.
It’s all in vain…
just gold leafed rubbish our fugitive season…
Unaware, the same pitiless smog infests the veins of the morning.
What a scourge, this cripple miracle:
once more
I’m the only one surviving the plague!
Ungrateful,
I’ll lay to rest the twisted dross of the yearning
in a sycamore coffin.
Oh, but how to erase your shadow
- an image of perfection,
how to undress my disobedient body
of the scars deeply cut by your tenderness?
When I look back I see
only crossroads.
And now this maniac future
grabbing yesterday and relentlessly dragging it...
I see
blind leading the blind.