The moon in
a veil
as if it had coldly evolved an ego.
Its last blood-red
leaves gone
how stiff the creeper
on the graveyard wall.
The snow falling
tells me to stop thinking...
Neat path.
Neat lawn.
Neat visitors.
Neat concentration-camp.
The joy of
breakfast.
The best Java coffee-beans
pass through a cat.
The Internet:
the so-far-greatest triumph
of form over content ?