Too many lonely

The smell of a life of death

smells somewhere,

please rate your shoes off

legs, and rushed away

Run musky scented

tomorrow.

Too many lonely

the arms of the night position to give

of man to take root stick

a cycle of pain.

I watch a little

I write a story,

Night screw threads

closed circuit pain in the back

side. I at night

often I dress Eve

configuration, or a cold strikes

attached to the skin of the Moomin shirt.

Longing pounds of coffin

nails, and a man's aging

prematurely hurt too much.

Joensuu poetry night

states, forgetfulness whispers

its mouth. Street lamp under

light moths calls.

Butterflies are sleeping

obediently somewhere warm.

I was as ripe grain crops

I would like to cry quietly,

but the grief is dried

  big pieces on top of the breast

sore throat snack.

Now reverse the goat circuit

gone with the time and

the future of dance calls.