You can’t turn money into lemonade

Rotten freeways are
Growing from the garden
The same one that grows the lemons
We can’t even imagine

Not everyone knows how to make lemonade

We only see the snowfall
Piled up by the plow-full
So we can all get to


Everyone is lucid but the dreamer



Even in the late afternoon



There are no hiding places
Not even behind my eyelids
Every second that passes shows

Your cheek bone-knife glinting
Eyes squinting towards the west
I leave my own body
Any hint from you
Any clue of the future
Always looking east

You are

        to the sun

All Winter
You reel your eyes in at every entrance
And I finally left mine out until they did dry
Then sank them back like stones into my own face