You settle me vigorously over the head of an elephant What is this of your listlessness, that precipitates Down below the earth, An extension of your trunk
I will paint a brush to Kangchenjunga, and an another towards nothingness over my soft dreams to build an igloo of my shivering nights, and weep the absence in a broad daylight – The reality of my canvas
I will take, an Inch of sky to mend your dreams that in a fit of unruly adventure, had been bruised at many a tender places Bologna it lie helpless, upon the night board and have been severed – Pinions of dead wishes
What is this of these moths; nocturnal caving into nights deeper down the ocular cavity Do I burn my eyes to the extent of their rush towards – Celestial light bickering about its presence
What is this of Your, life and death The more I lose beating of my heart into the last beep of a flatline More silently you communicate stony of my closed eyes