It may well be, behind your back – one need only look back – No phyto-mass (Heartwood. And the foliage with its autumn Complement of carotenoids.) Rather, the cinnabars, ochres, umbers, The overlapping shades of chrome’s oxides, But it may well yet come
A ROMANCE A creature without definite feelings. Better so. On the white-washed verandah, fouled by flies, early morning, with a veined rope in her left hand, she thinks of the senseless spark of the minutes (while the man deliberates
Butchering the Ram And while traveling the transcendental path of non-violence, Extracting out of the hyperspace the fermentation of kumis, These peoples of the steppe have yet to discover An eschatologically sensitive means of extracting energy from suns.
This night was born in an old and dust-filled pantry, and yesterday’s – in the shadow of a dandelion. But each of them – is a coffee bean consisting of two halves. And into each, night worms make inroads. Not