with the endless ribbon
of cycle track in front of me
i hope for the wind to stop

is possession
a measure for the time
you didn't live ?

caught myself wishing
for the earthbound equivalent
of a midair collision

i have been tired,
forced myself to stay awake,
now i cannot sleep

garden-hose disguising
as green mamba - luckily
not the other way around

i forgot
to open my eyes
to the little things

horses down
to a good second.
new first: loggers

feels like drowning
in a puddle after
swimming across the ocean

the same faces peeking
out of the same style clothes;
a massive crowd of them

beauty, in the age
of the cheap-bitch-look
disappearing into conformity