October...dissipating
from the gong tongue
my body inside a shiver
inside a bitten sound
the chrysanthemums smelling like poem lines
fresh beside
beheaded
a quiver of palm it's all that is left
on to your breast bone
reducing the philosophy of the world
it can be entered inside
my being
without order

the moan of the dusk on the
opening window
the zephyr fallen on the kiss
on the shadow with it's interiour flame
what an order in this world
God
what an order