“Books were safer than other people anyway.” I can open a book and peer inside I can read its meaning See its dark side Know what’s in its belly People are not so anyway

Red, yellow, and blue, We see colours everywhere; Colourful empire.

To my son, I hope that you are happy And that you are always able to know what that is Stay out of trouble if you can But go into it if you must Know that I don’t care who you love As long as…

I wonder what you think of me Writing out all these lines Deep in the night I am not crazy, though to write you have to be And I am not masochistic Although to write… well… Turn my eyes in on my chest Trying to…

I swear, what was written tastes better than apple served by the hands of a lover. I know men who mistook their stupidity for cleverness. I am against nothing but a man who doesn’t feel the end of this poem as the end of a…

Tea and cookies on an ornate plate wait for young ladies to sit down and hear the old tales from old men who know nothing of secrets that they keep and lies they tell and promis- es that die

Life has more cinemas than you need to see Child bearing and rearing are two villagers Baby factory is an easy production Parenting is the hardest of them Fools can always make them The wise mould them Hindsight sort them  

Van Gogh painted the sunflowers Harsh in their brightness Thick was the paint on the canvas Standing out from the flat surface Every color shone Van Gogh drank the sunflowers He absorbed every image around him Took it in and consumed it Drank it down…

there is a drumming, you are near it little drummer, can you hear it? a crack crack craking marking seasons and days a march march marching noting movement and growing ways a thrum thrum thruming crescendoing in passions, love and war a pound pound poudning…

The lake froze over As it does every winter Streaks of brown and white Air bubbles that catch a last breath Eye staring up Everything is visible And not at the same time The images bend and twist Ice distorting purifying and consuming all