Between the crooked lines and my deaf poetry,
i hear raspberry bowl of emptiness swinging onto my anklet
the sourness, the bitterness
strike right here in the perimeter of earthly images,
a vague amplifier going berserk
silence, noises, screams, Pause.
I am a stained tea- coaster, resting on your blue table
i crave a coffin or a bed now, for I want to cease
till the season changes and my blood spills ink again.