Poetry is the might
to individuate the most latent beautiful blooms...

There is just personal death
and collective continuum...

The tranquility
in between cats and fishes...

Seeker:
_Master! teach me you...

I am happening
as I look at my watch...

They pet wolves like lambs
out of cowardice, and then...

What have we become
how palpable...

Ticktock-ticktock
thus said the mockingbird of a clock...

Behind the curtains
of death, distance, and desire...

Amongst the gasps of an accordion
we were dancing...

These shoddy people
they all are nothing but ears...

Our death is intended
unless we prove otherwise...