Moon in dying
on the icy bridge...

The ambrosial ending
of the day. I was not sure...

It was not mental,
when you said...

A wine taster was
ready to begin the birth...

On the mount
a broad-leaved tree was preparing...

In praise of body
like a bow...

In moments of hubris,
of artificial hip...

A mentalist does not feel
secure, when you start...

Wearing raw beef,
speaking Buddha...

The long tentacles return
to gather you...

Landed into a pi I-
am still struggling to...

Living on the fringes of
faith, you become epiphanous...