Poem"Beacon"

Squeezing the twilight with both my eyelids,
and quenching my throat with green fruit juice.

The dust stains on the back alley,
The cardboard that is piled up and the saggy electrical wire.
Someone clenches a worn out match,
and lights a beacon to declare a counterattack.

I feel like that.

The smoldering passion is watered by this world,
The budding of resignation is sprinkled with chemical fertilizers by this age.
Holding the twilight with both my hands,
and spreading the milky clouds in the sky.

A spark that spills like a monologue,
I use it instead of the headlight and advance.