When I make a heap
of all my killer pains...

It was a breech birth,
scuttling the forecast...

It was a mixed affair
of love and hate...

Becoming,
antinormal was not a...

To skim the sky
like swifts...

Knowing the beginning
and the end...

Hot fish
becomes topiarist...

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

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

In western sky
hundreds of small birds were...

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

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