words

Be my immune system

What he could do

Full possession of my senses

Time and space of the night

Around the shoulder of the sun

Every moment

Subtract into nakedness

A comfortless pause in a flattened sail

It means everything it cannot say

What went unsaid between us

There were no simple answers

She is the moon

There is no news in fear

The frozen sea within us

Scrounging and hungry for words

The color of music

The stranger in my foxhole

Drunkard angels

Love and the morning after

Met only in dreams

There is no God.

The weight of gravity

Love is a relentless hoard

I am ready to die for poetry

Deep in the part of my heart

Keepers of private notebooks…

She returned his gaze, struck by her own transformation

Shot directly into her veins, it was like mainlining poetry.

Come, thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell

The language of algorithmic ghosts

Hammers of pure, green granite

Conversations never had

A nomadic cult of echoes

Children are angels with amnesia

In my younger and more vulnerable years

We are for the dark

The silent syllables of fingertips

explained away by sad songs

We are all just fisherman

When it rains

Silence becomes a stalking beast

It was always the becoming

You can’t do without a typewriter

The lucidity of her smile

Then something in her stirred

The big one waits

Time

If the concept of God

I could see dragons

a difference that couldn’t be

At the end of a long journey

And life kept going

That which exists between the words

The awkwardness of swans

Nostalgia

She’s defined by

She’s driven by equal torrents

She is haunted

She was lost to me

When their hands met

Some nights

Scars

Breakfast

A requirement of living

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