Like inky jet,
ejected on white paper...

There were involuntary
pauses...

Unresponsive, an
alien ego: I was moving...

Again I have come back
in the crowd of fakes...

Not a single word
wept, when sky was overcast...

Impacted in lunar surface,
the centuries of dust and...

In western sky
hundreds of small birds were...

In this cruel summer,
body becomes a river...

I would not bend the
truth. A grape in mouth...

Hot fish
becomes topiarist...

Knowing the beginning
and the end...

To skim the sky
like swifts...