Make sense who may. I switch off.
But I know what darkness is, it accumulates, thickens, then suddenly bursts and drowns everything.
What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.
Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.
There is man in his entirety, blaming his shoe when his foot is guilty.
What do we do now, now that we are happy?