being korou:

Fled from
the kiss of the wrong.
And I ran down the road.

Past the streets of creation.
Where the houses
open up their walls
and let me peek
at the painters paint.

Along asphalt paths
slippery with my sweat.
Lit by the black sun.
Along treadmills.
Through hamster's wheels.

Till the black air
tore open
and bled light.

And it rained light.
A pillow. And curtains.
And smile. And guilt.
And everything else.

(c) Korou Kh. 5/01/09