Her head was a race against the clock
speeding thoughts to one o'clock...

The moon got over my head
like the watch on my wrist...

In the backyard,
I searched for you in the stars...

If your definition of a poet is someone
who can make you relate and make you feel...

Through my hair glides fire and rain:
the misery my of days, my cries for help...

Outside the rustic porch,
near the stairs that bloom with magnolias...

I felt and I feel this feeling in me
some type of feeling...

This sadness is the kind of sadness
found at the streets in my dreams - the type...

To feel is to sleep in streets
with newspapers up to necks...

I've always wonder - it has always been
a part of me, wondering that is. About...

In Winter - you were my Temple, an altar
that diffused incense to benches overcrowded with...

Within the night, a black leather book rests on...
just like your head does on my lap...