You ran and I was watching you run
in circles around me
Like a runner in ecstasy of winning
an illusive trophy.
Warm it was, that night.
I said plenty I realize
it must have been too much
but not enough
clearly not enough.
This torture
of inexperience is not enough
We are left with none
to begin with.
If by reason
I need to follow
I would rather be mad.
To follow is to lose
the shine of darkness and
my world in its empty delight.
Velvety moss,
dipped in hollow verses
when I lay I look and imagine
to fly to cry.
To fly, I went
and held in my hands
the yellows, the blues, and the reds
until each dies into black abyss.
And looking down
eternal deaths in a maze
half in the glinting sun
the rest in the sight of lune.
Strangle the Strange 