Did the wound exist
as an appetency...

They all rot and fade
these shoots of expectation...

Hell is sediment
Whatever resist burning...

These rivers of cries are endless
because oceans are connected...

God is quiescent.
To sound there must be two things...

There are flowers that they bloom in darkness
but the reason they bloom in darkness...

It doesn’t matter
if you’re not with me tonight...

Veil lifts in twilight—
gypsys dance reddening in...

What wounds you inflict upon this heart—
yet you do not know...

Have you ever drunk
from the goblet of yourself...

An Old Poem
After forty-eight hours...

If loneliness were a flower,
it would bloom—only to fade...