A stone tossed and turning dragging behind it the weight of all this…
It’s Always Raining Here
It’s always raining here, a secret language falling steady, collected in stone basins…
Vapors rise and swirl between us…
The sky above the poet grinned and a million words spilled out…
Walls that Speak
Into the cracks in the walls, crawling like ice on the face of a corpse, the words come and go sometimes…
Skin pressed to a glass wall, flesh taken the shape of servitude and lungs filled with a feeling of dying…
Something Left Behind
It’s the open road away from some part of me something left behind that I may never return to…
Traces of Life
At great distances lies the secret to vision without movement Waves crashing in stop-motion—the artist’s strokes slow, deliberate— Press a button and the whole film plays in seconds Millennia compressed to a bite-sized chunk That still manages to get stuck in the throat Though we didn’t need to breathe, anyway.
Light the Way
Flames pulled the inner lining of my threadbare jacket The only cover on a soul washed raw A trickle of blood from an injury I never noticed Washed by rain from my face upturned to the sky.