Deserting a shrine, in the swirling
waters, I move, unbuilding...
Death
Mourning...
A dark secret
of double standard...
Don’t let me go.
over the cork, a bottle...
it exists outside the bonds that entrap them,
and wanders for a place outside eternity...
Since my ash has
blown in your mirror...
Talk of politics,
and the auction begins...
Golden, short fur, huge head, big enough
to lock onto a bull’s jowl and drag it down...
The shovel
moves the wet earth...
The nightingale was
very sad. Nobody...
I've reverted my yard
to a bush block...
That moment when the rain stops
there hasn't been sun in days...