Prose & Poetry

Even the sky passes through her now,  vault of undifferentiated space, container of the uncontained form

Will we be buried in this bed? And would we mind it if we were? Who’s

A series of trap doors led to my entry Into an evil funhouse I fell, no

Which coastline will catch that lighthouse beam? Where is the shore to make a landing on

You don’t even deserve a poem,yet here I am.I wouldn’t call it a poem.It’s a blade

This isn’t a drinking song nor a song about drinking but a song written while drinking,

I would place flowers at your feet water you with compliments and pull the moon from

Her love for me is on a diet Small and restricted Ashamed in its existence When