However many years
will scourge or wash you...

It was a twisted, hellish night
and I had no legs to carry me away...

You hear me perfectly,
with an audibility that even...

Not sure where it will take them,
the clouds dress themselves with...

I try to shout to her....
but my echoes have no balance...

He rolled toward me like
the ends of a firework...

I haven't yet figured out
how I will take this Sunday...

You can't say I don't have any more
home runs left in me...

Dancing is what the trees do,
on a sun-sleepy ocean of inky leaves...

Your lies are tracks of the past
and though you ran a million different...

A hug for her and no one else
vowed in word, left to forsake...

I feel as if May has swept me up onto its
hot air balloon, with devoted winds...