From the 2018 Collection "The Dead Dog Parish"
Praise those who sit and wait for nothing. Who sit still and know they are owed nothing. On the mat each inhalation
The choir of the saints is heartle… They’ve parried happiness a lifeti… seeking the old earth, the marsh of the meek— where earnest suffering is woven w…
The moon lulls me as I wade through poppy fields, dragging limp hands behind me, catching each pod long enough before it snaps upright again
Sometimes the sky is orange, sometimes it takes a purplish hue— mountains for contrast their dimen… and the light pervades twixt our c… and the light washes down mine fac…
Finally alone, I lie with a volum… I venture again to hear the injunc… normally I savor their sensitivity… but tonight all I can think about
Wanting anything— What a curse. I take the simplest of shelter, revisit proven feeding grounds, do what my organs demand.
As a child I saw the meaning in n… I beheld the color code. I would dream of my bed whirling, I would feel my bed spinning. To take a birth here is a hard fal…
Torus, it’s shaped like, hang on, the number is as large as the planet.
There in the mast of the sailboat one of the many slumbering next to the spit There by the lowered sail
There is a most worthy woman, the upper steward of the manor, Obermeyer of Holy Terra, house cute, smokestack simmering,
The Eye of Providence harbors no grudge, holds no thought of evil. Knowing this you may boil in oil,
Trees poke from the earth like the mummified hands of the martyrs. Buried alive, they strained with last breath
You can ask to be shown, opened unto a dimension, swirling, sickening realm. But, woe unto thee fleshly being, dare ye enter that perilous gate
It’s not so easy anymore, a few beers won’t topple me. Twelve hours will mend me. I am boxing a balloon, humping a leg—
In Thirty-Four years I can count on two hands how many times I’ve been in my right mind. It is a small percentage.
