A non-compulsive lung asks for a laksa sauce: what sense can you always hide from me?

An urgent hand, saying to the crumbly crumbling cup: what injury are you preparing for me?

A non-threatening eye, whispering to the cauldron: what spice do you add to my boiled hooves?

The wobbling heart, suspecting the gaping gap: when should I be immersed in the flamy oil of yours?

(2013)

WITH a fractured beak, he stirred his own shadow, until he was dissolved in it.

With a weak wing, he hugged himself, until he could no longer be separated from the tightness.

(2013)

IF we are sheltering under our own shadow
Who should fly higher in this confined space?


Morning come, evening come, shift the direction of the shadows
Space: a giant cage, not embraced with a wing of a span


Let me incubate your eggs, I'll take care and feed your kids
World: a big nest, we are held together, won't be exhausted warmth.

YOU are the book that he wants to keep reading.
I'm just a bookmark, that reminds,
but always end up scattered, forgotten.

LIGHT, dreary light, on a plaza, surrounded by
unexpectedly hopeless hope. And you, stubborn man.

This plaza is a placenta. And we are
the fetus that can never get out of
there. The maturity of pregnancy, and we
are not ever dare to actually be born.

If our mother dies, dry the umbilical cord.