Slow down a bit, my friend.

The moss is creeping up our home

Brave New World

Where Love exists quickly.

Where Joy doesn’t wait

Where Sadness doesn’t cry

So I strolled into nothingness

Shut down the oasis of youth

The aroma of citrus, the rotten peach

The opening novel residing on your pillow

Old stories, scary ones, or stupid

Shall they go

I can’t tell.

There's a desert in our world.

With no end.

It's the drying up of egos.

It’s wrapped up in finance

In titles

In those sublime things which are good to be shown

in a crowded place.