There is a place that has been
written about before, many poems...

I could express words that weigh
a million tons of nothing, yet you...

A skeletal figure lingers
in the doorway of my...

My soul has become parchment paper.
Frayed, around a silhouetted frame...

I can write in a closet, while skeletons snicker
sing in a shower, as body soap recites all fears...

I skip cross life
like rocks upon...

Gray Spanish curtains
hanging...

Death has become a design of informal thoughts
notions of peace are dressed within tainted tears...

Poetic emotion,
grasping strength...

Clicking and glitter
remain a fortunate...

I blew smoke rings...

I've twisted elements
to match the sparkle...