RANDOM HALLUCINATIONS I. wind when harmattan is clawed, devoid of violin strings; cobwebs. in its haste, my ears endure sterile songs only brown crisp leaves, baked by autumns, stirring and whirring whispering the season is at rust II. religion...
THERE WAS NO DOUBT There was no doubt He was the mad man Of our town, The only one declared. He spread his rough hands...
