A sudden gust of bitter wind from somewhere hot and foul, whooped and howled throughout the scattered waste and scrabble down that God-forsaken alley.

I met a man who told me that he’s looking for the way he might become more free, less encumbered in his life. Poor me, poor me, poor me;

Look out there, see them, boy ? They want yer juice. They’re dry, them circlin’ desert… All they want's yer juice, boy.

Almost silent, A numbing hum. It is a cold cloudless night. A brilliant bone-white moon hovers amidst stars upon stars upon stars…

Listen. There it is. The hum of perfect silence at the centre of all that is, and isn’t.

Sweet Mary Jane bade me follow where she led. I went eagerly. She was my life’s one true love. All the others,

This trembling grief is for a long lost soul, a young, guileless child I once knew as me. I truly believed

These words I cry do not come easily; as if they echo from the cold stone depths of a long forgotten tomb.

I read such woeful words penned by a fallen brother; his message cut me deeply. He prayed to all that’s holy that he might cry again.

“Don’t say anything!” spoke the shadow in the doorway. I was seven years of age. I lay limp upon the couch, still recovering from

Time wears away at me, like water on a stone, oh, so slowly, but inevitably, drop by drop,

The storm is brewing. I smell it in the air. I am panicking. I can barely breathe. I fear this tempest

I see no reason now to disguise this naked heart and soul of mine. You can hide there