Demons

Where the sun seldom rose like the south of Antarctic, the skeleton

mourned lacuna in its sombre hideout in apocalyptic dark.

 

When my Cimmerian soul conjured dreams of quaint springs

for the chaotic backyards of my mind.

 

And I ran amok amidst the wild shrubs in

the savanna, looking for birds of paradise till

you brushed past my rusty flesh like a holly wreath.

 

Till the quietest whispers of daybreak,

relentlessly across the nighted Pacific

let my demons fly with yours

defying gravity.