POETRY

                                  POETRY
The footsteps were tired, the house was close
 
But what to do now is just weird

If you come out, the moon stops in the window

Whose fortune was there in this city?

The storm also rendered these blood vessels useless

Who had the luckiest bird ever

It was not a struggle by itself

Someone in me was a follower of that

Someone asked if the mall was surprised

How poor was someone in his eyes?

When did the dead air come from?


A window that was a cross