Into exile

cold wars

and silvery spoons

make me solemn

in the self-closing eyes

always priggish

as a desolate diver

I blindly follow

the northbound shoals

hoarse in the black iris

I'm a tipsy toad

howling in heaven

with frigid manners

resurrected again

in a parquet parlour

of colliding sighs

the highland highwaymen

set up bonfires

in instinctive phobia

of the uninvited mirage

rural gravestones

salute the lightning

with tremendous pride

still frivolous

over the glum expressions

during prohibition

I smile with a frown

when my chapped lips

touch salty chips

into exile

to shock, to astound