The machinations of weeds often go unnoticed
but I can feel the dandelion’s dark intent.
Inside my computer are vices I can’t explain
and virtues I won’t.
What battles for more are fought silently
in a world of less and less?
I was born in a gold mine.
Gold is a poison.
like fish we die far away from home
in houses that will immediately be given to someone else
Miniature Moon 