Rhetoric had a theme
like crab-grass to destroy the lawn...

Unslept-
hangman, flees from the noose...

The moon was moving
stealthily in wilderness...

Come down gingerly.
The deep snow is melting...

Waiting for a prickly path
at crossroads...

Plurality of the sin
slids across the sludge...

For a desolatory trident
I was feeding my anger...

So my absentism will prevail
over presence...

Again I would hear the night sounds
through the hours of civilities...

Again you made friends, words
wanted to leave the paper blank...

For the sake of lake, I climbed
on the weeping hills...

A relative lie,
becomes the truth...