Apprehensions

 There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself --
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.

Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.

They are my medium.

The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.


A grey wall now, clawed and bloody.

Is there no way out of the mind?
Steps at my back spiral into a well.

There are no trees or birds in this world,
There is only sourness.


This red wall winces continually:
A red fist, opening and closing,
Two grey, papery bags --
This is what i am made of, this, and a terror
Of being wheeled off under crosses and rain of pieties.


On a black wall, unidentifiable birds
Swivel their heads and cry.

There is no talk of immorality amoun these!
Cold blanks approach us:
They move in a hurry.

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