It was the frontal assault
of brutal summer...

Would not move the things.
They had moved me...

Will not donate
my bloodstained shirt...

1.
Memories on edge...

Anointed truth
had no path. Path...

Sun breaks
on green lake...

A lake walk,
in the forest of limbs...

We are going back.
Let it be...

The founder will not find
the copper to cast the history...

He wants to revert
back to mutism...

You come to me formless,
to claim your dues...

A poem
borrowed from the roses...