and then

Hyacinth garden

eyes, as dry as firewood

telling all

how pretty she is

they penetrate

and then

they follow me.

with radiance

and fluorescence

one spark and I’d go up in flames

and then

is it time to love?

to be in love

is there a difference?

and then

it is loose

it will not sing to me

my pain is an instrument.

a stone where my heart used to dwell,

leaving me here to

face isolation.

while they just go.

and then  

I have to persuade agonies

as an essence of shame

from ironies

that damaged my machine

et cetera

and then

bent down moonlighting eye lids

impose on storm clouds, to capitulate

nevertheless, tons of freezing snow falls

snowdrifts sift into dreary mists

that passes out of memory

and then

things like

whirled crystals


and then

crawl across the ground

and then

simply disappear.

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