A.D. 2010
There is not much to say about hell anymore.
It grows like honeysuckle.
It chokes into the smooth myrrh of indifference
with sweet cloying smell.
Does it tickle?
A.D. 2025
Diembodied.
"Just how many nuclear wars did they have?"
Embodied. "They?"
A.D. 2040
Under the plum blossoms
strange rose gloves of the same hand
intertwined.
[copyright EAC 2010]
