I see people walking
down the street...
Speak mirror!speak!
tell me of the old secrets...
It was 9:30pm!
her forehead creased in displeasure...
Flimsy shoe
stroke from below...
Give an inch, take a mile,
deceived by lowly banter...
people only type
in contrasts...
Sleep, what's that?
As the Sun wanes and its last rays flow dimly...
It seems to me
That the best presents are not under the Christmas...
Children are crying
parents anxiously searching...
It satisfies the soul to step back occasionally
and roam the smaller town main streets...
A petal danced upon the wind,
Timely floating from our sin...
The pale dawn illuminates your face
Cold and uncaring...