Let it remain
ovarian pure. After strangulating...

Stammering quarrel
with classical fluidity...

Like tussoh, I collect snow
after the blizzard, churning...

Wanted to pay
debts of gratitude...

You are not me.
It was not gentle...

Ethics of brands will find
out the anatomist...

Give me,
some poison to live...

To catch himself
he jumped into fishpond...

Roses had gone wilting
after surgery...

Eggs went freezing in the sap.
Lips of moon were hot...

This kitsch
makes you hollow...

You had set your sights
on the pond, accepting defeat...