Who are you?
I am not MYSELF...

Huddled on the metro with
chewing gum and felt-tip pens...

How long has it been since I stretched
my neck to take a look...

I usually keep my life hidden,
choosing for the most wayward of...

-
When she was an innocent girl...

-
There's nothing quite like writing about the rain...

-
humans talked storybook selves...

I burn to release,
send cigarette tips moving...

I once heard that Tokyo, at night, is like a lost...
There are no businessmen to see, to act unbroken...

-
She threw paint around...

What do any of us know about anything?
I made a house for you...

All other voices are blocked out.
The scratching throat of the wind...