Pregnant puddles swell into labouring pools.
Give birth to muggy streams...

From the bottom looking up,
the ripples of souls...

To the dead butterfly that lays its patterns
Towards the ceiling outside my bedroom...

In bed-
not writing for anyone, just writing...

Saintly heavenly sphere
rises with ominous blue eruption...

The cats sit on the wall
cold air sits in my lungs...

Back from Stratford.
a letter to...

A million suns explode on the waters,
the human gods look up...

Slandered on the juvenile philosophy of candle lit...
We stagger our moments...

The night came with so many terrifying epiphanies
that by morning i was left brain dead...

Grasping limbs
in deep soil...

Life is given a different light
when you're out on a date...