Every day that is to come,
I know I will be glue...
I see me not. I see me not.
I have no mirror to reflect me on...
Lord
You are not the sun across the mountains...
with blue skies
the man slept...
May thunders and lightings fall upon my bones,
I want to become dust...
A boxer
boxes men...
while skies cry
puddles gather ‘round...
A human
skins lions...
If I were an small island firmly rested on the...
my possibility of no longer being an island...
my week has been a raining day so far
with winds semi-calm and clouds as grey...
American Burying Beetle
you are a vulture...
Let me close my eyes into oblivion
like a forgotten language in the tip of my tongue...