let’s hide beneath the wild bridge now. 

They will come and search for the last ignited piece of spirit. 

Buying the unfathomable repose from holly water and smirky illusions, 

we would make them cringe to their loathing corner of  self-immolation. 

We would buy vegetables and sing songs and send words to inanimates. 

‘Come as you are….’ 

A mountain of isolation and some untouchable dances of this buzzing creation. 

What a time that would be, 

When we would dare to be rich only after drinking whiskey under the celestial northern lights. 

All bewitching things can never be mere dreams.