I watched you twirl,
clutching the hem of a...
We were not born in a storm.
There were no heavy-browed...
My mother once said
if I chase curiosity...
I have all this love;
here, in the palm of my hand...
Dream.
Armistice has arrived...
I want to make worlds
in miniature...
I am a modern sonnet,
penned by a modern punk...
(I dream, sir, of the routes of my childhood
of braiding my hair...
---
this ripe, fair skin...
Here, find me in my ruin
where I lay beneath the frost...
Father,
have I disregarded my childhood...
Flecked across a scorched plain
in Death Valley...