The universe is a seven second loop.
The sky is wearing a dirty orange dress, 
with its hands hidden somewhere, 
So the birds are frantically running 
around it ,to have a hug.
Coughing up flowers ,
an old lover sings,
in a slur only broken hearts 
can understand.
The honking car befriends this ghazal, sticking notes to its underbelly, 
in hope of seeing one night stand.
A half beast drags it's black wings 
along the foggy curves of earth, 
trying to find a miracle 
that will give a meaning to its life.
It wears a shirt two sizes bigger  
so that the voices inside its head 
can have a breathing space.
Slowly it will turn into a poet or a girl.
Sometimes, both are the same. 
A spring hides under torn fish net, 
with a thread long enough to send the messages of caterpillars to butterflies, begging them to be in therapy.
A young tiger makes his first kill, 
with a war cry soft as a feather and
a rabbit opens its eyes to darkness.
The metaphorical spine of first love
melts like an ice cream, 
and i became a vessel 
with chipped fingers.
A foreign patron saint 
listens to my prayers, 
only to forget it later, 
because he is a bad listener 
and has iron deficiency.
August parades with a red velvet cake, 
it's finger not big enough 
to hold us together, so with passive guilt 
I wish you happy birthday 
and you thank me.
You smile with your brown eyes, 
and I try to carve mine with a knife
a parody to some Greek tragedy.
You laugh, and laugh:
I call this memory, 
which is not mine to hold on,
as God.
And I close my eyes, 
and pray for ruin.
The universe is a seven second loop.

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