Clyfford.

I see;

trees in the breeze,

swayed by the

twilight hanging by a thread in the air

while the stars begin to wink

at all that sits below,

A cloak of blood,

and a violent mind,

A crying sun

next to a reaching daughter,

the dove

boldly diving toward it's home

just passed reality,

and

a cloud of cigarette smoke

engulfing the brain

over a conversation

which is pushing

back the darkness.