Poetry

A tiny doubt sends out 
the solvos. Self on fire, 
you want to bail out the hierarchy. 
Physically imperfect, a star 
ejects the charged rays. 
 
There was no secret of coronal 
mass. You were taking a dip 
in golden plumes of nirvana. 
No suffering, no remorse. 
A slice of moon will heal. 
 
In your path lies the gray earth. 
Who will incite the ocean now? 
A transient truce will not give 
you the leaping death of 
valley. The clouds will take there own revenge.