Here's the city of shadows—

worn out zipping memories, its coast

smoking high, the old divisions

divided well, in me

always will be, the spurred buds signing

in water.

Sealed pages, bloated in burner smoke

hold so many lies, by thin sheets—

souls flick, winds flow so softly

the low roofs, couldn't melt under

the heat and stream, one by one

coiling and gleaming, 'Where have you been?'

                Happiness like glittery wheels, in wheels it's broken, time with time—

I didn't have anything, I didn't wish to be

calamitous, yet calamity is no less

than a sigh, looming over storm and dust—

how can you be so sure, turbulent winds failed to flare?

sweat ceases behind lashes, we tend to forget

the red roots whence we rose.

               City skies bear the vague lights, a satin coat falls down in potholes.

. . .

Following up — part (iii)