I always carried my death, living.
My memories all were...
you
no longer...
A dream to me is reflection
of all things my mind taketh in...
In the sweetest sway; in the blurry line between
the dreamscape and the disembodied reality...
_Why must we achieve timelessness through time?
_ For the essence is torn...
Just a touch of death
is what sometimes bring us back...
There’s too much blood here, too much blood to...
in any meaningful way – I spill poetry, and it...
The rhythm beat of sax floated
over from the canopied jazz club...
This body talks and interrupts
- my peace...
In the mirror
a place time forgot...
The pavement their pitch
a busker and an addict...
And of all roots –
I’ve eschewed yours...