following out of the corner of the eye, pretending that it is just following the flow of the water
You visit me at night, mostly, a shadow, the past. Another life, maybe. I wake up panting. What for ?
But cabbage trees surely have a soul
I will chisel sentences, like leaves on trees, placed one by one, like commas, between the emotion of their existence and vain attempts, I will place words on the passage of time
amidst the wires
getting where you wanted to go
almost on time