I think of color
Conte technique
Over this pillow
I shade pebbles
Greater than your hands
Scattering through debris of seeds
In a place with so few trees
Hearing your echo intertwined with mine
What is ‘this’ passion
If you can’t meet me halfway
Sometimes
You feel like a void
That I follow
Without following you
A portraiture
The tonality
Of a single text
Stone COLD
Hold ON
You’re still STRONG
NERVE pain loneliness
I haven’t LEARNED anything
EXCEPT for the LINES across your FACE
MORE human, than YESTERDAY
I am adapting
Cowardly, but adapting
This is distinction
Between surviving
And existence
My mercy
A need to substitute
My mouth, for a dream
Different homes
Pincushions for doorknobs
Damnit I love you
One must be blind
Stripping God of its own light
Things none of us could be
The profound luster in lines
It’s happening to me
A wound, too echo’d to reveal
That love is not found in days
Covers us in blue
In the instant
Of this instant
Memory invents
Another present
A circular courtyard
With superstitious
Flashes of light
Intended to cover
Every crack in our horizon
The furthest of reaches
Sex seal serpentines
These syllogisms
Transform me
Inside is outside
It is everywhere
And nowhere
Invented
Devoured
– Man
We live in identical rooms
We blankly wake, we greet
From one balcony to another
Successively for a hundred years
Between now and tomorrow
We will spend the rest of our days
Growing gardens out of angry stars
Arrows & Metaphors 
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