The calling deepens at
night, when it is pitch-dark
and I go in abyss.
Unknowable my angst,
keeps me restless to blunt my
hyperaesthesia, which wants to
drink moonlight.
Clumsy with my pen,
I write and rewrite a message
which will not reach you.
You have the same faith,
as that of the sleeping bo tree for the
god of void and blankness.
Tell me, what is a classical
fall of animated suspension.
You leapfrog for the bird catchers.
I plead guilty.