This spectrum.
No it will not work...

In searing heat, on
the fern path...

You loosen the grip
and let go the bank...

It was a marathon race of
timeline. The days are bound and shot...

My little dirty moon,
why were you hiding...

Wanting to die young
hairy and unbaked...

Night falls in rings.
The poetry becomes...

The traveler sleeps in a sepulcher,
endlessly, timelessly...

A sudden shock,
when a snakeskin starts moving...

To connect with a reclusive mind,
was an uphill task...

The great lines, you quote, don't
stir me... you know my vexation...

As I accept the verdict,
the dead-soul beast...