Whittled wind, dead cold.
Our earth you have sold.
Naked bone upon the ground.
Your wisdom - oh so profound.
Tomorrows song plays dead.
Lost all, lets call Fred.
Vapors vacuum in my head.
Wilted flower lying in bed.
Ask the future, a morbid web.
"SPIDERS TRAP", the jester said.
Poisoned water dead fish cry.
Malignant tumor inside my eye.
From my poem book - DREAMS