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Poem
The night air with owls cry invitation of canopies of writers to write the 
Days using the night pen jolting candle to the candidates aspiring to arson 
night. The pans and pots exchanging strong actions to the curve of the sea 
like seasonal belt.

I preferred to belt ideas to conclude the departure of imagination under 
the wilderness wings of the soup, the night, where I power my thinking to 
pink rose. I raid it to trade the sound of night that of my belonging, the 
defame of fact to fiction looking strive to live under my enterprise. 

I cajoled the swirl wind from the sea pointing to talon meek of jealousy 
collided to collaboration the admiral salute me to the situation under the 
control of my  country where I encountered Taibatou, the couple of days 
dash around the bush to the calabash of my thinking, it never too late to 
buy the truth with bullets of fact. Shining light to the shift of action 
to accost stirring on street with string of peculiar explanations shivering 
mind.

Divining day wake with action sealed of blue cap contemplates the 
Inflections of words to describe the caravan of chagrin mammals with tiny 
ribs socket of sox seceded to sue the merchants of rogue. Daffodils color 
purple with flowers morning millet of null to answers. The breads sandal in 
my throat which I have to draw  it with cup of tea to make the belly 
Assault the pang of hunger and thirsty like tricycles moving from left to 
right without clear definition.

The sound of broom from unwilling woman woke the master to dance to the 
music, the imagination of life sings lullaby the stars smile like sinister 
expecting spouse running on the door to dull the light. The coat of 
Fabricated joke tore the night blowing scent, scene of stage amphitheater 
Like Luke of contort fact to consortium benefit.

Why I have to wander the days sleep in the night wake up from the dream of 
success flagship my empty heart drink August to clinch thirst. I sweep the 
night to defuse tension that has been marrying me for Century of sentiment 
mad of violence concrete of concerts connect direct to the desire night 
cold as ice loud as bomb difficult as flying in the air without wings.
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