with time dressing all wounds leisurely,
do you think memories are nocturnal...
Upon the ripples of a soft night,
the stillness envelops me like a coffin...
you swallow your breath as
thunder bleeds onto the...
art is the deliberate undertaking of
mining the unconscious to a...
is the silence damning or was it the lack of...
in the garden? it made me think too much of you...
the world breeds wildflowers with
thorns so abundant; you wonder...
With the waning light of the moon
stripping flesh from my bones...
with a poem in my heart,
and wine in my belly...
rip the air from my chest like you’d pluck
the ripened fruit in midsummer; i assure you...
and what else perches upon this body, but the hot...
regret, as if sorrow opened its mouth, turning on...
the wind stirs again,
coveting lands that have...
predator by name; you knew exactly where to
lurk. methodological; brazen in approach...