He grabbed his notes from
the underground, fingers brushing...

Beautiful.
I’m writing again, which translates...

In, thoroughly
then out, slowly...

I am more like
a surreal painting...

Look, the celsius degrees
are sneering at our thirst...

The ocean is fathomless and welcoming.
Arms outstretch above...

Go on.
Speak of foreign lands...

I never said this, dear martyr,
but I still remember when you punched...

It feels light to you, doesn’t it?
The weight of this...

In funerals,
I’m used to wearing...

The thought hits me sometimes
like a bolt from the blue, that...

I’ve been told many myths
about death...