poems

her if i wouldn’t terrify time any moreto stare at her souland stare at her whole and if i am dying staringat those hesitant eyesand trying to solve themlike a pirate searchingthrough an ancient scroll what a colorful, wave-woven eveningon a black and white picturetwo suns, nowhere to be seen but, much like the scroll,those

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kill me nowand spread my dust all over the landscape,let my body reinvent itself,let it coincide with realityas mushrooms, as grapevines

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time, after time,after time,we findthese silly little momentsto be fine. gardening for a bedridden manwhile he isbartering in a deathly man-nerwith the turns of a clockfor simple amenities time, after time,after time,we findthese silly little momentsto be fine. maybe if we gave hima golden rose,the clock would forgive himwith more to propose. time, after time,after

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