Ancient meadow preadolescence, burgeoning and righteous never-ending dimension first sighted past your fingertips… is stolen by ambition,

Therein are the spoils of sorrow, the fruit of hardship, where wind snaps and prevails. Death whispers a hollow secret and I still shiver

Love is a svelte dagger, a gentle rapping, a triple-seven. Love is my law, makes me weep,

Is closed, always was, like Heaven, far too expensive and unrealistic,

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

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

The choir of the saints is heartle… They’ve parried happiness a lifeti… seeking only the old earth, the marsh of the meek— where earnest suffering

I saw a man and his crumb snatcher… sprawled on the porch of their hom… it was painted a bright ocher with… small, modest, humble, clean, givi… A joy, in short.

Think you’re doing something? Thing you’ve got some power? You can walk on coals, swallow poison and live, but who is at the helm

Mowing with the sickle I stop abruptly and remember crawling out the window to smoke on the roof

Don’t bother with worry, this isn’t me crying to you all. I am crying to the scribe in the w… who’ll take this story and mount i… upon a medium, a tape, a film,

If presented with the choice would the dinosaurs have allowed the asteroid or meteor to hit?

Trees poke from the earth like the mummified hands of the martyrs. Buried alive, they strained with last breath

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