SYNESTHESIA

In between the mundane seconds of a yellow Sunday afternoon and the stale poppies melting on my ill windowsill I hear your grey voice rushing in sea waves Echoing in my brain's camphoraceous caves Conquering my body like it's a war zone fighting for my sanity And the faces of your face are rip-offs clinging …

THE CLOCK DETONATES

I fear my nebular shadows might taint the stillness of white clouds The parched troposphere is parching my humid breath, my humid body Suspended in the air A borehole is running out of fluid I hear the music of pendulum galloping tearing used papers, scratching empty walls whispering I couldn't write no more My stagnant …