Your genome was climbing down.
I hate to count the steps.
Feathers hurt sometimes
...
By candlelight
crooked fingers drew a face
on water for the sake
of sun.
...
A weeping willow was telling
a trove of memories,
for an ancient provenance
where the lake sleeps.
...
I do not want to take you,
either the road ahead,
or lovely gyrations
on low stage of voicelessness.
...
Firing of neurons
accelerates,
under the weight of ruthless
originalism.
...
Encrypting the cause―
of death. Why do you
truss up the statement?
...
A futile attempt to go
for a collection spree.
You got only the numbers.
...
In shreds,
the day has passed.
At night, I will touch;
the unasked questions.
...
A veiled threat,
a muffled cry. It was not human.
No beast, no monster
...