Today’s sunset getting blurred by forbidden winds. 

It’s coming. 

The tornado; to take all my hidden and immovable waters, is coming. 

Only the pilgrim me, only the vegabond me…

going mad over differences and breathless hysteria. 

If there was anyone to give shapes to my homelessness, 

then it would be you. 

A shining armour, a coffin made of your night skirts…

Take me to your playful deaths, my lady of virgin nights, 

don’t make me direction less in this flood of changes… 

I make poems out of only you and this god-damned crazy city. 

The dictation is scraping the last light and the last black.

……………………………………………………………………

Image: Google.