the pain buys less drink every day only the high thin clouds of memory persist blown like stirred like coffee Continue reading
My mouth is a Moorish gate of rhinestones and piercings and spikes.
Our stones shear, like our religions, whose fall so near. There’s the catch, the shiver, the beg for a river. Continue reading
Our stones, they shear, they sheer like our religions.
one calls out for that friend that saves the catch of breath that says “i know you, i see you, Continue reading
The high thin clouds of memory persist blown like stirred like coffee dregs, stirred like gnats by a summer wind Continue reading
i am the friend come to you dressed as the enemy whom you recognise when false friends steal your clothes Continue reading