Is the blue lonely
while it is present everywhere...

A wee rabbit trapped
in the barb wires of your fangs...

Green makes
the world...

Let me weep in this embrace—
if any embrace...

What is more exalting than a good rest
after a good hard day of work...

These roads are eloquent
in every inarticulate turn...

The true love is when
one love something for itself...

Hiding in behind
the beauty of your own mask...

Little lamb munching
on the sunset lawn before...

On the branches of silence
a red finch rests...

My laceration
and your thorns are what the red...

It was deep inside the wound of that tramp
that I learned to be a gentleman...