Not reading your eyes
today, walking on
burning cinders.

In search of green
darkness, to sleep on the *******
of waiting moon.


The fear of woods, hiding
the tiger beetles. They
run very fast to ****** the prey.

No agenda. Outside is
very cold. The poet will
see the fall of veins.

The road still entices.
Endless dreams and―
no halts to get the kiss of eternal rest.