In bed-
not writing for anyone, just writing...

Saintly heavenly sphere
rises with ominous blue eruption...

Grasping limbs
in deep soil...

The cats sit on the wall
cold air sits in my lungs...

Pregnant puddles swell into labouring pools.
Give birth to muggy streams...

Back from Stratford.
a letter to...

A million suns explode on the waters,
the human gods look up...

To the dead butterfly that lays its patterns
Towards the ceiling outside my bedroom...

The night came with so many terrifying epiphanies
that by morning i was left brain dead...

Slandered on the juvenile philosophy of candle lit...
We stagger our moments...

Life is given a different light
when you're out on a date...

From the bottom looking up,
the ripples of souls...