The same trees were there when I first saw rain…

Water drops seeking the gravity, brushing, eloping the green existence. 

Utopic green rain. 

The first time I slept through the idea of fascism…oh my; all hell broke through, 

red shadow inside this child’s dreams. 

I played something silently…with moistures in my fingers…felt like kissing…felt like resplendent intercourse. 

Is it not kind of insane to not get mad even after a semicircle motion inside this thunder storm? 

My city lives through misseles and ephimeral slogans today…

Trees are gone inside the melancholic soil… 

And I feel old…the poet feel old…fascists smile with one set of teeth.