Selected Poems



There is no privacy in summer, the streets are full of those of us who wish to glow, and those of us who leave the house waiting for rain. The rain. The rain which gave birth to us. Quiet though it may feel, the whimpers of the child come from every corner of these towers. Here beneath the canopy, you can watch the fly, fly. Expertly avoiding the tremors of rain. Why am I blue today?

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