Morning chirps mock the muddled mind
Too many whys and unresponsive echoes
Lonely dawns and lost dusks

Change changes nothing.

Pine spines cover the terrain in rust
Rocks peep from behind the trees
Road twists every fifteen metres
Mould settles in every crevice
Trees ambush the trails
Toes and peaks talk
River disappears

*

Playing peek-a-boo on dividerless ways
Giving right of way to defence trucks
Chasing tail lights
Approaching the pale bare horizon.

That city seems desolate
Just worms there.
And the cruel lit up sky.
Relentless. Sleepless.

There’s no one waiting.
With parallel dimensions lost
and effort becoming isolated.
Highways lead nowhere.

I have become less of me.

The silence of the wind is an enchanting absence.
recurring consistent soul-consuming

The change of seasons is an illusory anticipation.
atrocious unfulfilling life-denying

The colour of the sky is a blurry vision.
sooty sulphuric eye-scratching

The flower of the tide is a dusty heap.

Sweeping the tree only by a violent surprise
The wind is no longer in love with the leaf.