Well, it burns.
The chaos came again and swept my mind.
Collecting lost ideas-
They're lying on the floor: randomly scattered,
fragile and broken.
They need a hug and a warm glass of milk


Bubbling on the stove - efforts & passion
flipping up themselves;
crisp like a dead fish, spiced with regret.
Disappointed, they turn to the puts.
All they need is soup and some pieces of chocolate.

This winter the flow stroked again:
I caught some and kept in a crystal box.  
We watched at each other and tried to react.
Now we both sick:
dying of boredom.