It’s raining today. I haven’t spoken to you since. And, well, how the cars go by the thousands in every direction, meeting for moments...

Maudlin man drums to the ceiling fan poor, poor, doomed and dragged. Austere, contoured face that is ugly only with’ thick blood smeared...

Son, I’ve loved women, but never myself— You can’t blame their hearts for what they never felt. Your arms will be dagger’d, your sleeves...

I look into eyes that only see mine. Rooted, right before me in the dead soil, insisting that the Life is still. That gale is reduced to...

from all these places I depart, have gone, left to more places to leave bereft of my presence. how shall I linger? scratches, scribbles...

There is the music, cherry-lip sweet. There is the soft electrical hum, the occasional slamming of the keys. Row by row, the page is...

god is chaos. I necessitate wonder for the questions that I ask, but my answers afford me a title long-since feared & wearied: mad not...

Shall I gather the liquid centuries into my body and renounce these petty rules as but the artificial stepping stones to grace who is now...

Well, I’ll know clarity when I am not born of smoke but of the flame—No, when I’m the flame itself, all woodwick & nightshaft transcend’...