City stars look like birds.
Last night, they flew away -
To the city far away.
I write this city book (a diary)-
With mean pages of I pity and communist saints
Last night,
I lay awake -
I heard the night mumbling.
The words -
The words wouldn’t fly.
I wanted to write them down.
But the critic on my skin
kept on giving me empty air.
The night wind made many sounds;
It eventually dropped my words.
My words hit ground -
Between the paper and its poet;
There lays a kingdom in my mind - a creation.
On the horizon making it makes its poetic speech.
It flees into night glory -
The city stars like birds (when they flew away)
They dove deep into my guts
I am - this night bird flying - into the horizon
My spirit is melting on paper.
Coyrighted 2009
