... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
It would be pleasant to be drunk.
The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.
I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.
I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.