the book of water is harder than a faceless table.
time is filled with green pages of loneliness.
together one can drink from the side of the pink grass.
whoever finds a full buffalo he wants a green rust.
let us bow our heads to the glass that holds the eyes of the misty vacuum.
sooner or later it'll be later.
a fast chair talks like it has no feathers.
nobody knows the street that sleeps under the broken hunger.
stretch the plum that whistles in the clouds.
