On emptiness…How I long to write / but I feel like / my / words / are / empty / buckets / and I’m an abandoned house. / Who is this / that termina…
midnight to morning…sleepy, slowly, as a fat river runs, / hushed in the hard hollows, / vibrant, across the stones. / the land unfolds, / where I can see, the…
Flow…How water / Flows / Encapsulates / The river weed / Brushing strands / Through it’s wet fingers / From up here they are silver grey…
Untitled…When ever it rains / Kisses dew drop down / The air will fill / With finer petals than the / Freshest rose / And time / Will never tell / …
in a car with the lights out. …there is a boy, a bright white light of a boy with swan eyes and a voice like the flood water rising slowly in an empty room.
Melancholia…A recrudescence of sore heart.
