Beyond the Indian hamlet, upon a forlorn strand, I happened on a trail of recent footprints.
The rain's innumerable hooves spatter on the streets and roofs.
As long as you can Houdini your way out of the Sisyphean constraints then originality happens.
The uncreated and the dead exist solely in our actual and virtual pasts.
I still haven't quite got used to eating live fish.
The music provokes a sharp longing the music soothes.