The grass sword,
bitter as acid,
seeks vengeance on
white silk
left, destroyed,
in the hands of
blood milk
for recuperation:
insufficient.
It lies in a
bed surrounded
by empty words
and titles.
Lost in eternity.
Never found
nor discovered.
Essence unscathed
…
I tried to eat
the rain tonight.
Eat it for the water,
water for the white.
Must relive that
dreadful moment;
tried and failed,
time and time.
Dreams of red,
fulfilled at expense
unforeseen, unpredictable.
Expense of soul;
soul of dust.
And I vividly recall standing
on the shoulders of giants
only to see
the feet of gods.