Was it always this way,
or just my oblivion was the sleigh...

My poetry is not poetry really,
if poetry is doomed...

In the darkness,
all the inks in the world...

Whenever
we are losing...

Nurses see only
old lesions but for patients...

In the night all the
inks of the world can not shield...

Looking into the paradox
of distance and destination...

Now and here are the same magnet pole
as we go...

they looked down upon him liketh dirt, in...
they never saw him, they saw themselves...

A kiss hit me like a clout
and I instantly forgot my own whereabout...

Recognize your own
beauty, by averring the...

The golden farms are
collective consciousness of...