Poem

The trees have sex, Teach, Focus. Tohu Bohu Chaos in a green light. Alone again. How alone I twist at the end of thought when illness is forgot and the speaker is punched on the bark on the soft models. The old abbot looked at us and laughed. He loved electronic gadgets for his tomb. You were as beautiful as six almonds as beautiful as the naked foot of the messenger of peace. You sat in a corner of the page.