Poetry

Thoughts move 
like free radicals 
at different levels, at different times 
to carve, to destroy 
to put up their signatures on walls 
to seek authority and wealth 
to catch the sex and glory, 
in perpetual chase. 
Miss the shadow of moon, 
miss the stars. 
 
Here we go, here we sleep. 
Only religion is desire, 
only drama is hate. 
 
We will set them on fire, 
all the bees 
all the wasps. 
No insect will live 
only us, the human beings. 
 
Arrival of fever 
entery of death 
we are puppies 
we are stones.