You were starving the words
to commit the waves of hunger.
What I wanted was a patch of shade
under an olive grove.
No intrusion. It was a miscarriage
of justice. We were searching the
missing links between the years
We sell our gods and move on
unquietly to understand the
lament of middle of the road, when
sun was nestling in the clouds.
It was Fall. Fall of vanity, fall of
integrity. Fall, fall -
my pride, my tears. The season