The whole world
gravitates...

The abyss of shapes
drop to drop...

I am the poet of the true reality—
not the shared dream, communal illusion...

She cried for a little gingerbread,
its arm was missing...

What am I to do when the gladiolus cannot stretch...
this vase of loneliness anymore...

God is dead,
thus Zarathustra said...

You are so fine—
the universe holds its breath...

Baba is dying
and the universe is crumbling...

Haikus
are butterflies of the life's flows...

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

One must search music
deep in within, that one may...

You're incurable
because you are the very...