March 17, 1997, under the four-leaf clover,
- a symbol of faith, hope, love, and luck...
march is like a fair maiden in a white sari
constantly asking me to take the first train home...
last monday I read a story about a girl running...
and all night I worried about you taking off...
He held a gun to my head and I saw the humanity in...
so I forgave him as soon as he lowered the pistol...
I'm not sure
what kind of man...
you
speak of...
in fields of roses sweet, I swirl
the petals soft, caress me so...
War!
War...
Sun rays diffract in my eye contact
in fact...
Who knew something so small
could be the highlight of the day...
It’s not just the vodka
stirring in my gut...
I fear for the day when I no longer see the good...
Or even in myself...