Some Poems

I guess I have to keep writing what I want to write, and eventually turning it to what I want to read. Still, it is always a work in progress. 

Glue

It is often that I have nothing

to give. Yet you stick

with me. If love is your

glue, beat it. Yet I have

spoken too soon: no spit

can dissolve your dip,

making you a bottle

of it. I know, for I have

put a finger in it

which only keeps

pulling me 

deep.

P.S.: Like I said, I only write what I want to write, or read.

I have been writing quite a bit of haikus recently, or poems in that form.

Sometimes the sky steals

the silence of a stone to

return flowers' tears.