Snakebitten
you raise your hand:
not to strike back,
but to salute the pain.
...
Night melts into tears
day sums up the pain.
A fear stalks the flute,
and darkness falls on the drapes.
...
Less of charity
was needed, when you sleep
till dawn.
...
Is raining. Since night.
You have no claim on
dry lips. Wry stance. The
city walks slowly. Wasted
...
A streak of sin was
always there, when I looked
at you in brief encounters.
...
A city burns.
The child carries the father
on his head.
...
Pupil was on parole.
You abandon the inexhaustible
patience with increasing distance.
Everything was fading
...
What happens when
you stop thinking?
Reaching near the god
or becoming a stone?
...
Becoming fiercly personal
with no physical contact,
the crescent moon
ultimately occults the Venus.
...