I climb up the stairs to know
How much you need between nothing and a thing?
Grasshoppers are storming the sky in inverted outwardness.
They will breed in millions and then die to become the delicacy
on the platter of man.
From basic instinct to martyrdom
Insects don’t eat.
Violence was middle name of lust.
Homosapiens were walking again on all fours hurling the abuse,
grabbing the flame, becoming the god of oppressed
and approved words are crawling everywhere.
My fingers are burnt, my poem bleeds...
give me some water, some real cool.
Lake is on fire, god is on run.
Clouds are empty and sun is an abstract.
Frame is broken, portrait missing.