Everyone
is going to work...

When God whispers your body
to my seizing hands...

In the middle of night I called her.
In the middle of the nightmare of daylight l...

About an hour passed
in the arms of silence...

Butterflies of poetry
forever flutter in their reflections...

We must again,
learn these mundane paths...

From the futile war
remains legions of mutilated hearts...

Is understanding, as ruthless as it is,
another version of satisfaction...

Is it, a struggle of a feather
to survive its yanking and flouting...

Time is links
woven together loop by loop...

I don’t care if you believe in God or not
Yet whoever “knows” God in heart...

Orson Welles,
a man...