DO NOT WANT TO TURN. I do not want to turn again Where oft I have trodden in some days When the sounds of my footprints imprints Crimson blood stained mouths of memories. Purple trafficking in the humdrum streets Where nothingness enforces reinacted designs Tongues burnt by heats of scorpioned flame Among florid furies of the beleaguered nights. What has come over me in the dew of dawn Scorched hands plucking at the blistered eyes Golds of harvest now stored in shadowy deep In frigate of serpents steeped of the venom kind. I do not want to turn again Seeking out the comforts of hope or sleep In some vacant spaces of the charnelled fields Where dazed desires suspend in vagrant deeds.