MEMORIES OF FOOTPRINTS

Our names are pelt/breathing clays
Carved in prints, shades on beaches

We point tips at folktales, guzzle on wines
To sip out drunkenness of  housing a man in men O' men.

Burnt men spur as flowers, rising with faces left in the green house
As insects play strings on grains, the sun smiles/ scares/ frowns/ and weaves help for the moon to scuttle again.

We have erased memos of how our footprints patched the soil/
The time we mount on mountainside, heads locked, as prints appears on seas.

Carved men are shepherds /predators/ carnivores
Wandering on rattans, camping from sorrows to mourns....

Men are man who bleeds, cries, roars and laughs,
We graze on nightmares and relax in dreams....

Men are souls creating beats/as lips made instrument,
Foots are ego of blind moves with heads underneath.

Men are natural, hanging on pedicel,
Rotting in chains like green/ grey/ brown/ black.

Men are bridges/ ends with parallel strings that shoots light away from the sun,
As we turn back our heads neither we see the last home coming soon....

Men are droplets of spring that cracks/ scratch the wounded sky/ bleeding earth,
Like scrotum/ Pierce into the yolks, pounds hearts to dust.

Men still survive with heads unknown,
As foots in endless race hunting for that last flesh on the sky

Men are not grieffy letters alone,
Men are bodies left with hands to  rise/ lead/ punish souls.

Men are flesh found yesteryears back still admiring fresh,
Men spells/ traps/bite/ confess/ smile, kills/ live/ die/ rot in grave looking ever fresh.