Birl ! … says my brains

It must have been

something like a

balancing act,

walking on a floating trunk

keeping the object rolling.

To birl.

An intake

swirl.

Do you call this dance?

Fine! …  But!

It’s rather my thoughts

roaming the streets in a drunken walk.

A mechanics?

Could be! … But!

It’s rather my feet

tiptoeing on muddy park lanes.

So before we go into pipes and valves

Shall we sweep leaves on

clay ground lanes or

collect pine needles on

a cobblestone road?

Despite,

A whirling wind has

knocked down my thoughts.

My body is still 

birling endlessly. 

-

Abraded life

This body was already eroding.

My thoughts scramble when it is

all about names.

Last night while

scratching my hair-skin I

discovered a

leather layer as old as

I.

A life becomes worn

as an old jeans

we got attached to.

Days are running for their lives.

I’m shortening the nights

afraid of losing time.

 Scrub particles hidden in soap and toothpaste…

My skin is fading away as an old Balatum.

Processed by corrosion

teeth are falling apart.

My abraded mind fights

to survive my decaying

trunk…

…probably need others around 

to succeed.

-