Flower The wind blows. Lightly holding the end of the skirt that white woman’s hand white flower petal by chance catching your eye flower! The wind is blowing, but the wind is blowing, but Unrequited Love The only thing that I have standing on the road as you were passing by I threw it upon your surprised temples and fled now it is resting on my pale wrist naked pulse of life. I put on the clothing of a few years change masks a few times Today, I sit in the driver’s seat again and release the emergency brake, but do you think I can go now? Path in the field where the adorable olive trees are standing in a row I go to you and— field full March wheat rippling mask on my button-up shirt.
printed in The Street Where the Pipa Boy Disappeared.