writer of poetic prose & free verse poems.
Now, I allow this self to feel. As it is
This paper is a mirror, a mirror to trap in
This hefty unworthiness and disguise all
In letters, in ghost-sounds. I watch myself talk
Like a crazy person. I have to mop these lines
The moon’s dance becomes
A Rorschach test I fail. The Crescent
A hammock, to lie my hunched
Back down. Paddling against waves
Darker than this abyss, grander than
Here it arrives, in the head again. Your eyes
On me, waiting for my grand, doomed fall.
An overdue visit from a companion-cloaked
Monster, a killer of starry dreams.