everyday you pick up the hammer
you hit on the head of the nail
words surround you madly clamor
you can't make head or tail.

rarely the nail penetrates the wall
oftener it breaks by the blow
all that's hidden inside the skull
more refuse than pour out to flow.

you drive the nail's head with your might
wishing it goes all the way
miss in the wrath to hit it right
fail in what you badly need to say.

the hammer gets blunt slows your hand
you are saddened no progress is made
on the next day the same place you stand
looking at the twisted nail's head.

The more I get to see you, the more I want to;

The more I get to listen to your voice, the more I want to;

The more I get to talk to you, the more I want to;

The more I get to be with you, the more I want to;

The more I get to be loved by you, the more I want to;

The more I get to love you, the more I want to;

Columns of red lights
And headlights
Of slow moving vehicles
Some roaring, some howling
And some, comfortably blowing
The air reeks, the road
The road persistently
Seals the wheels
And the drivers, the riders
Barely visible
Hound the maze.

There are many strings to my heart
Nudge them and pull them apart
Music will always hold them
And play its ancient harp

I go back to that place

Through the green door
Enter the red brick house

Mikhu is still the little fairy
My eyes look for
And still my shyness
Forces me to look away
In her mother's presence

In the faraway attic
She furtively cooks me a meal
We make love
That brush our skin faintly

When I come out
She stands at the green door

Then upon the here
She is no more