A constant poetical struggle
is to stroll through barren, forsaken stations...

In the meadows, winds call your name;
listen to them clearly as trees rustle their...

Ah dirty lamp, I found you on the ground
At the city of gold...

Grant me another place to fall
other than these stacks of needles...

I'm letting go of the helium tank.
Out of this gas, I call love...

Poetry, you were but specks of dust underneath the...
crumbles of cookie Oreo next to my touch pad...

Acclimatize my house of reason, dear Jesus.
These seasons are treasons of an evil beacon...

Anchor me to you like in a boat going fishing
Let me drown in jealousy within the profundities...

I wanted to run,
to run towards the edge of tomorrow...

If in between your lips, a butterfly laid still
Still as if your lips were two petals: carmine...

She said,
Darling, I'm not fields of grass...

Flashing lights into brown eyes
Bushes quivering to barks...