suddenly the feeling is gone.
the warm sensation
the only gentle touch you felt it was familiar to you.
maybe - you said - it was just a soft breeze.
and then again this word breeze has been here for so long
that even hearing it sounds like spoiling your own mindless self.
you pick from that ground
all those ruthless tree nuts
and its leaves
making way to your own desire
finding
in opposite views
one more suitable for your childish behaviour...
don't kick that grass you take for granted.
it has always been in your front door
in your way.
don't keep that light out for the seekers
you've never been too good with lost causes and saints.
as the machine makes its sounds
and the brightful and colorful boxes make their go-round
the fear of had has brought mice into this house
wash your mouth
go sound,
be sound...
