Thus said a boy ingrown and callow
to his mother...

She puts the knife on the lamb’s throat
but seeing the innocent lamb in the eyes...

(old one)
They conspired against songs...

It was in the black and white of his magic
that all my childhood turned into the colour...

how pretty you are in the vanity mirror
is how the mirror...

The awe
of wrinkles...

Everything is running,
seemingly towards somewhere...

When the wind
at its hasty ingress...

You are so quiet
but your silence is quite loud...

Is transparency a soul,
something all the clear things share...

Dawn to dawn
in the shrine of loneliness...

Two round mirrors with two focal glow
make an oval...