The street looks a little brighter every night,
I wonder if it's really because of me...

boy dives
in sea of books to surf...

I cannot explain the way I feel...
Today...

It was you,
my blues...

Oh come forth, speak to me my Lord,
I need to hear your words...

the faucet
drools non-stop...

Life is an ice cube
floating in this glass of Earth...

Inside a car, with windows up,
A doll with braided hair, sits...

may pillows gather at my feet
and pile their way to my head...

Let’s start again
by writing a poem a day...

I cannot find THAT
which I've been searching within the hays of time...

I want to think
though I think I think...