The last strings are pulled
Much to the audiences’ despair
The puppet show is over
In overtures and epitaphs
Wilted flowers wistfully lay
Piercing the skin into the flesh
The nocturnal yearns of years
Untouched beneath the stairs
Dwindling shadows caressing
The restless hours of longing
Lullabies
The poet has risen today to
Answer his tarred lungs
Gasping for air and scent
Of the woman who has
Slithered into the veins
Of sleep-deriding eyes,
Differentiated him – molecule
By molecule
Jarred by the gusty wind
The rusty chandelier creaked
And curled curtains let
The wavering streetlight in
To forms misshapen mounds
Of colours on his face
Colours colder than the winter’s
Breath
The silting snow reached
Out to frosted window panes
Only to witness the leftovers
Of the synthetic day;
The poet’s half eaten eyes
Shone in the flickering light
Becoming one with the
Nakedness of the night
