Where has the butterfly winged?
Where has the flower gone...

If you kill the messenger
The message forever...

Everything is running,
seemingly towards somewhere...

The awe
of wrinkles...

how pretty you are in the vanity mirror
is how the mirror...

It was in the black and white of his magic
that all my childhood turned into the colour...

(old one)
They conspired against songs...

She puts the knife on the lamb’s throat
but seeing the innocent lamb in the eyes...

Thus said a boy ingrown and callow
to his mother...

Sorrow,
soaked and swollen...

I soak in the clear well of morning dues
to bespatter...

There are transparent fossils,
the fossils of voices...