Have you combed your hair


While you waited for this page to bring you

A shipwreck

An evening displaced in ambition

A time that is a pillow that is a snow mountain

In the kitchen

Are you lost, my fellow poet?

Church bulletins on Sunday

Behind politics

Where is that place where you hide

With all the words you dreamed?

Poems that come in dreams

Dreams that are green and global

Your mother’s voice in the sea of the crossroads.

The moment of alignment

thinking inside your thoughts

Will they also regret being born?

I’m having long conversations with the author of

“Psychological Paradigms of Displaced Persons”

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