A gust of wild wind
Carries an uneven blow
With a smell of stale conjugation
From the distant shores of life,
Drifts into my blood.
The tired afternoon
Crushes the wild buds of desire
Grinds the crystals of sweet dreams
Into powders of slow death
To mix with my evening drinks.
As I start ruminating,
Listening to the stories of-
The youth of angry butterflies,
The dreams of hungry pythons,
The smells of drying plants in
Autumn gardens of the alien,
The tired Sun sets of
The kissing lips,
I doze, sitting on my couch
Where the river of pain
Snakes through
The valley of shadowed heart.