maRo' s autumn

here somewhere was the time
floating in it's  own way
and cloth blood was brown.

sunheat fought with acid
' who can burn better the ground? '
so it can can become brown.

water withdrew aside
so worms could see better 
that  blue turned into brown.

becoming blind  from clear green
which later froze the yellow steam
 stroke me  with a filthy a dream
that i belonged.

but then i fell, 
and turning clocks, inspite pink joy and reddish hell
closed my sights and locked them.
Go ahead, try feeling  somehow better!
 now that you're  down under brown.