This politics of poverty
erupts again...

Would not wear
the seasoned face...

You were half-crazy
saving little buds...

After the moon
it was an unkempt night...

I have agreed to cede
an unwritten moon...

What was about this face?
Between mirage and actuality...

Put off the lantern.
I am waiting for the moon’s...

There was no end
to looking inside...

Holding the thread,
I catch you in midstream...

With stoicism writ on face
I invite the chisels...

It was a wake up call
invoked...

I will need
some new words today...