The question
to solve cannibalism
was never genderless.

The real McCoy plays
the game of
sun's core, which
rotates faster than periphery.

I don't trust the
sun's setting. It will rise again
in full fury. Angels too
take revenge.

Branded as witch
the night runs,
after the moon for braid cutting.

There were red rains
from the sky, burning
the green eyes in love.

At departure time
I will collect the brutal sea-salt.