The calling deepens at
night, when it is pitch-dark
and I go in abyss.

Unknowable my angst,
keeps me restless to blunt my
hyperaesthesia, which wants to
drink moonlight.

Clumsy with my pen,
I write and rewrite a message
which will not reach you.

You have the same faith,
as that of the sleeping bo tree for the
god of void and blankness.

Tell me, what is a classical
fall of animated suspension.
You leapfrog for the bird catchers.

I plead guilty.