Poetry

Death was the beginning. My emancipation. 
Death of pre-memory thoughts. I am ready to 
enter the sound, without a shadow. 
The fire from orifice, clouds, tears and 
cascading blossoms in a humming night. Love, 
clap and dissolution. The construction of timeless 
energy. Flight of future. Your resistence 
melting like lips, going beyond the chasm. 
A sculpted freedom for prophets. False disguises, 
some body else’s identity. Eyes were cool but 
tears controlled by remote pain. Mirrors 
spooking. A knife knows its job. It is better 
to slice the sky. Great thirst for hip 
graffiti, tattoos and sketches. To be seen 
and admired by dregs of social fabric. 
The thought surges like the heaving 
breast, hangs on the face. 
Death was the cracking of dawn.