My poetry
I would like to be a painter of clouds
Missing person from eight to four
And the toolbox has disappeared into the mist
When white has crept into the hair and walls of old houses
Mechanics of all things useless and worldly
Heavy strollers with winter snow and ice
Above the curtains of the starry sky and dreams of love
The ships have disappeared into the black
Like hands that serve emptiness
I knew the name in your sparkling eyes
Palace cast in gold palace embedded in gems
And heavy curtains of theater painted with wild animals
And some strobe lights that exploded on the outskirts of consciousness
The price of love
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