The Sad Cactus

Born again – as the rain falls, explaining itself, securely.

It asks:

“Who am I to defeat the objectivity curve – to rattle the cage of the dawn – unopened, ridiculed, soothed and strummed?”


Exquisite lovers, hopelessly recovered, entwined, straddle a railway line. They are filled with optimism.

A clothed optimist cycles his sad bike down a winding, exquisite country lane, calling to the birds of mystery:

“Hey , who are you to apply your criteria to plates of sad cactus?”

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