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

Like a Somali pirate just pull up on the Grim Reaper, surprise him

It occurs to me now that no one hears my song. Still young, I am discarded. I don’t anticipate being surprised at my aloneness in old age.

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

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

In your gut is an empire— Spells, tug of war, Holy Days, ascent, decline.

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

Mojave Desert crushed cars stacked six, seven, ten tall. From the junkyard juts a billboard:

A Sacred Site is the ultimate emblem, a trophy of the horizon’s finitude… No better a final gate, no more wiser a runway,

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

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

As far as the eye can see— Limitless blue nowhere to be found.

The duration of a miracle is exactly one moment, after that you may as well be talking about what happened in the big game last night.

Yes, it’s a famous song— “Unbroken Chain” by the Grateful Dead, a good band name as an aside,

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…