Look at the angle of the eye
For the remainder of the day.
Come on.
Late afternoon.
Life smells.
Death — No.
Time slows your breath.
The thought is moving distant from you.
The key's screwed to the end.
Shadow's awake.
Light's cold.
Consciousness fades
like something closed.
Forever.
A cemetery of old words.
Wings are inactive moving.
That leaves something,
That doesn't request a name.
