Sitting In Dirt

Let us sit in shared light
and talk about the cove.

You take the call of a cuckoo,
and start trembling in blues.

You may sing without moving the lips
but this song is mine.

Why do you want to take your-
own life, in the drag race of bazaar?

Colors will hack you to death.
Don't climb the stairway to fame.

It was renaissance. The severed
hand was writing a letter of gratitude.