My beloved, she has abandoned me. What’s left is a stark white canva… that repels application of hue or… Hopelessly, I gaze into the bleak… She is gone,
How does a landed mariner ever tell a living soul about the exquisite rapture of the sultry siren’s song ? As it echoed through the mist,
Late at night; another helter-skelter day, having flown off unexpectedly into alien domains of disarray. So many urgent moments
What is this code that we agree up… but dare not ever speak in words ? That mysterious unspoken-ness looming where we choose to gather. It’s sure we must be seen to know
I’m not really here right now. I can only be here when no-one’s a… and I know no-one can see me. Even when i speak to you, I’m sort of not really here.
These words are crude utensils, with which to touch you, and be touched;
My father has come to dinner; He does not knock. He is not welcome. He is dead. Yet he insists on joining me
I am seven years old. My brother is ten. The beating was brutal. My brother is recovering conscious… I believed he was dead.
These words I cry do not come easily; as if they echo from the cold stone depths of a long forgotten tomb.
Is there any way I might touch yo… that doesn’t skim right off the su… of your exquisitely contrived vene… Is there a plea which I might utt… that would stir you from within?
These words, gently laid upon this page, amount to my sincere prayer they reach within you, and touch your secret self,
I dreamed of being lost and trappe… in a land of angry fearful liars. There was nowhere to run or hide. I cowered cornered and exhausted, my back against the furthest wall;
I stole myself away from thee and me, for love of sweet Mary Jane.
The old man, who thinks he’s dying, approached me with these words. I am sorry
If I could steal you out of time, there would be no place to hide. I would finish what was started when you left me here to die. It’s not vengeance which I seek,
