You have your studio, I have mine
In this well-lit bedroom of afternoon sun
A factory open all day, all night
Of paper-works and electronic handicrafts.
We are Daedalus building our labyrinths
In a world which can never get enough
Of poems like this and paintings like that
Among the millions of artworks waiting for sight
In a world decaying in an endless half-life
We make through the day with making daylights
For people trapped in maze-like reality
Crafting their wings to fly to the sun.