I am what I am. Don't ask me why.
I am a stork flying over the volcano.
I am a gas chamber inside a little kid's heart.
I am a smoke on a distant ship.
I am a phantom dog on a catwalk.
I am a newborn on a death bed.
I am many things that doesn't matter.
But I guess I'm really just an aspiring writer, bound passionately in the realms of surreal, delusional art of dreams.
stirred not at all
like a wilderness of dreams
or tremulous glimpses
of awakening
...
in the dead of (winter) night
in the dead of winter (night)
mime was executed for stealing pancakes
...
they say that
traveling carnival
will visit our town soon
whether the weather
...
where the hell
do they come from?
and where do they go
after the work is finished?
...