The harsh light went through the crystal like tear
and like a butterfly...
A poet's sorrow
is missing his pen and paper...
At the bottom
of the button of a rose...
Race with the smoke that whispers in your head
You will be a hero...
I have not repeated myself as much as before...
When I wrote, the repetition seemed to repeat...
When I speak, I use my hypothalamus
Not my Broca's area...
There's a thought in me
that is like a bird...
My landlord is a sweet old lady who calls me mooie...
one day, she gave me a tour of her house. she told...
The time has come to leave my home,
and be just like a seed of love...
Please don't leave today
please don't go away...
I like to write, while my cigarette burns-
nobody is around...
She wrote scripture; as he sang her a memory.
under a moon that was meant for dark souls...