Here are a few few-liners—short poems—recorded amidst city ventures and daily ramblings with friends.
I.
Today I died 1000 deaths but I am not even deceased.
How could I ever be bereft
When life is everything that it seems?
II.
It often comes to my mind that
When shit hits the fan people often forget to look
Which way the wind blows.
III.
If I were a dinosaur, I think I would watch the stars.
Imagine a place with a sky free of carbon waste,
Clear enough to outline the cause of your demise
On its descent from outer space.