Ascending Paresis

This was the art of killing. 
From the dizzying 
heights you throw the 
vesicants. 

Now you need the gliomas 
to finish the job. 

At wrong time, I was 
raising the bizarre questions. 
Why the wealth brings- 
the change of life? 

A wandering pain 
caves in, where the moon 
looks sick in its paleness. 

The massive lies, deep 
in dirty tricks after the traffic 
of voices.In blank space 
I plant my poem.