When all this is over,
Is over…
Will I trace my way
Back, through reeling
Time zones right across
Your empty eyes squeezed, of
All its clichéd stupor-induced
Visions, bathed in disbelief?

Between pauses and sunsets
I have collected fragments
Of your slurred alphabets
Spiraling down, down,
Down…
Into an abyss where you and I
Could only dream of building
Towns, folding and unfolding
Our paper dreams.

I have tried it again, and again,
And again…
Running in circles, chasing
Visceral galaxies I created, of
Meaningless jargon in
Elitist lips:
Insincere.
Vacant.
Passive.

How have they found me?
For my painted face was meant
To remain uniform
In the turmoil of uncertainties
And childish follies.

In between the lines of stories
Told before, notice the spaces
Where I will pour lines and set them

Ablaze.

Notice the smoke.
Do you see your name?

 

7 November 2016

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