A rebel without a clue.

In the evening, of day one, Alone  Facing to the east. As the wind Feels this way: Caressing parting sighs And I dissolve Down the valley (Making sure Essex Dogs plays loud). On this inward retreat. Some hands seem chapped and, Where a heart is desiccated, It is integral to this boney city. Dried: clattered, Clapping at nothing and an Empty hollow: shattered Where a terra rosa stains Along rivlet driven tears And life dissolves there. Clay, lies uselessly Fat, under Fixated assurity. While, my heart dissolves Into a Rochefort's happy, holy, Vectoring attack, it Releases me - but I cannot step aside This appalling season. For a time of real, Bloody pumping, We forget those trusts, In which we know There is no answer!