If you create a circle around me, the voids should be flaccid
if the volcano erupts, the smoke should say the forlorn tales
the markings, the sayings
the screech, the thunder-clap
my tattoos, my caricature
covered in the stack of grey thoughts
so I love black.
as the concrete foundation
as the depth of
the fountains of black orchids
the museums of grey art
the circulation of flaccid grey murmurings
Numb eyes, melodious clandestine truths
the mystery takes control disguised as the black lady.
So I love to forming circles in the grizzled blur.
the known, the unknown
the grey, the black.
the sliced part of the moon served
on my platter.