My weekends are somewhat overly aquired of late.
My time is in demand but without demand also...
Such a strange affair,
between here and there...
I miss the fog of your room.
the morning madness...
Practical in fractals
Erratic in these theatricals...
Do not fear the reaper
But be advised he comes...
and what else perches upon this body, but the hot...
regret, as if sorrow opened its mouth, turning on...
On some mornings I stole birds.
I opened my eyes...
I almost touched it
That place inside...
Sorrow espaliered across the width of my...
manages to cast light on it. I suppose that...
We both know what
the black stars hide...
I want to write so badly,
put pen to paper again...
I won't ask why the land woke up barren
after a season of suns...