If a second-rate artist had stayed in the academy of fine arts,
He night have draw a shtyoyk, not sphere of influence,
If a young soldier had kept writing poetry.


He once sketched corn market and the glamour of St. Micheal,
But his lines lacked the geometry of Bauhaus revolution,
If a second-rate artist had stayed in the academy of fine arts.

He might have traced tree shadows through the downpour,
Not diagrammed blueprints for labour floor,
If a young soldier had kept writing poetry.


He might have murmured Haiku to translucent jellyfish,
not sealed his breathe for iron and ash,
If a second-rate artist had stayed in the academy of fine arts.


He might have kept washi folds in origami,
rather than little red dot rained above an army,
If a young soldier had kept writing poetry.

He might have painted a Prussian blue over Bavarian Silhouette,
Not arranging the en masse beneath  broadcast commandos,
If a second-rate artist had stayed in the academy of fine arts.
If a young soldier had kept writing poetry.

Ali Ali, Sunday go with Me.
Don't stay in heaven, it's too quiet up there.

Bring cookies. Bring juice.
And Maybe... don't leave halfway again.

I called You.
You said "lema' sabachi'th''ani."
I heard: "Let's go Sunday, tiny bunny."

All the rosy salts of the world grew alkaline.
Their whiteness rusted -  pauper pepper.
I taste mire, where Himalayan once stood.
I gather dust and ashes, where sweetness never was meant for......