The Daybreak

Unfolds graduated emptiness,

Within is without,

Half-baked solitude weaves chiaroscuro with myth.

When I touch the flesh and its skin there is no volume,

Tangible or otherwise, just the hanging perception of the fruit,

Seeds gone scattered haywire.

It is a night, as the light contemplates, or mild fog.

Obscurity is general.

The quietude is ringing in beggar’s bowl amidst chaos.

When Rimbaud felt his hand bloody he cursed the axe, his grip, his fingers.

I feel the vortex, his anger gravitating and then comes the sleep,

Cracked and clustered.

The long tongues of time leap out,

As well the semantics in disguise, textual and dense.

I move within, tiptoed.

The cold walls ooze, moldy darkness stretches, tunnels,

Unfolds and empties its bowel.

A day ends where the other dies.