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

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

Skin deep, the moon
goes with me...

I hear again your voice
after injury pause...

The long tentacles return
to gather you...

Wearing raw beef,
speaking Buddha...

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

The fat moon
rises, when the bland earth...

In moments of hubris,
of artificial hip...

In praise of body
like a bow...

I am not going to touch
the meaning...

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