A city grows in you
overnight. You stand on the bridge
to watch the train whistling by.

More poems in starry
eyes. I catch the bouquet
of nicotiana― the night bloomer.

Nihilism tends
to wash the pungent smell of
purgatory. Who was
not a sinner?

When you are sad
I forget good byes and bring
the swan song of an oracle.

The truth does not
shine now. I make friends
with black ciphers, which
were pure.