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 ?

 

 

 

 

dissident editions