In my book there are old yellow
pages, with fading ink on...

In my book there are old yellow
pages, with fading ink on...

..And then the walls crumbled down to the floor,
but I saw no priest, not one savior on my door...

Healer
My betrayed joy; saved...

Come caress your love on my skin,
comb these prolonged kisses...

Nothing waits to be roofed,
a leader of skills attempts...

I want a poem that
you'd sob with...

If I could wish for a poem
that could make you sob...

Who said winter is a second
season...

He is that laughter that
never finds a tall tree...

A tiny creature
unknown to this world...

I am voiceless
in your pioneering mind...