I see myself walking,
	alone,
		towards the wind.
	Then it starts to rain,
		taking my hand away from me,
			I couldn't hang on to it.
		What do I see?
			I am getting further away,
				Nobody is there waiting for me.
But then maybe I am not the one who is seeing,
		maybe I should let go of my seeing.

Who is there at the next street corner?
	Is it you?
		I wonder.
Who is there in the next street?
	Is it you?
		I wonder.
Who is there next?
	Is it you?
		I wonder.
			Then I looked,
				It was me, chasing my shadows.

raw boiled head
	skin scalp belittling a different bed
get ahead you barrel head
	where else can a man tread?
at the noon's market a boy started to dread
	at the scarlet target painted red
he saw her hair, long and bled
	tangling upon a window, glasses shed
nothing but vapor remains to be read
	where else can a man wed?
oh, he must be fed, or he must have fled