Friday, August 20, 2010
I burnt my hand,
and some night a liquid
oozes from my wound.
Very ancient vermilion juice like.
You joy fully stick a knife there
sometimes, hoping to see a rainbow,
then fix your gaze on mine and say
" Tell me what are you going to do with me,
Say it .....say ....Say it"
The socket of my eyes are
a little bit more Royal blue,
my left hand trembles more,
My feet unaware of the earth,
The burning bed
grasps the insomniac man
and runs to that mountain
in search of two empty coffee cup