Two onyxes atop another out where the witch frolics, the signal clear, it rang through my throat so loudly I frightened myself:

One of God’s tricks is, similar to Michael Jordan, It sinks a three-pointer with 1.2 seconds left on the clock,

When I see the little holes where the earrings used to be I wonder what they embraced and then renounced to get to now.

Hell came through on battered wings, and thought to ask just one last thing. That If I could,

I once found in what appeared to be cistern carved within a boulder, an owl’s wing,

You can get better, or you can get worse, or you can stay the same. But you can’t change. Nope!

To be a ghost is to always be aghast— To not know which direction is the future or the past.

The moment you flit by my ear, my strings are severed, I droop like a marionette— I remember I know nothing.

In the most lovely of lands, before a backdrop of mountains and palms, there hangs a pall— All my Loves

I wept at the sight of my guru’s picture, Praise God, He is always with me, a Holy thing,

Just leave the fucking flags at ha… Or half-staff. Or whatever it’s called. Just fucking leave them there.

Brian told me he held his own guts in his hands, his tattoo reads: ALREADY DEAD.

The Rock made me to see each month as a day. The Rock implored that I be patie… with a patience so radical it slips into renunciation