My thoughts demanded streams;
of their earthly birth,
a visual entailment pressed
on the neatness of hurts;
upon plain beige pages
where settled 'till who knows;
their skeleton-coated flesh
in half-even rows,
they're pleading, vicious;
their intensity
be quaked on the surface
of one stolen nudity;
but only mine I have,
since only mine I bled
only images I photographed
when curiosity fled;
in my stratosphere of visions
'been weakened by some blankness;
of everyday witnessing
mediocrity--some's fondness;
hence, gave birth did I;
to unclarity's heaviness
inside, beating in echoes
of sentimental malice;
now pleading in tears;
their boldness,
fiercer than my hands
of familiar coldness;
as I shall begin
their engraved beauty
on sharp thinness of the ink;
as poet's duty.
