The stability of mother’s love-
may it cripple one so?
That withdrawn parallel, intimate she:
cause endless dream of a lover’s retreat.

The banal topic revisited, for humans sweet
obsess of touching, though phantom still
this affair may be enough to kill
a single pointless soul amiss.

A recluse, a retard, a social misfit,
a shell of a weirdo disfigured I’ve lit;
an outline in chalk of strange trembling gone,
and once it’s awake, disappeared it’s become.

Forgetting course of development-
a simple hand prefers to twitch
upon fresh and fictitious parchment crisp,
escaping what was meant.

A poet’s loathing goes within,
his mother told him not:
that selfish love feels beating warm
but frigid dead is wrought.