Window

Time, like the sun
can flow through a tainted clarity — 
the settled dust of settings past,
upon the windows of attention
and opportunity.

The Poet’s Bed

I spent the night with a poet
upon a bed of narcissm,
knee-deep in a war
with balled paper and pain.

Altered

A poem about dissociation

Albatross

On this night, my love is flesh;
unsated and empty, hollowed
by the drifted tides of the world.

This Train Of Thought

I take the first train from the way station,  shrouded by grey fog and dream.

The Trick Is To Keep Feeling

Living and dying
are the same, though
the former is sometimes a choice.

Spun

Some days, I drown
in my sorrows, as you did, 
without asking;

Cashmere

Draw the wool over a thoracic pulse -
past the rasp and catch 
of life’s callouses,
over a slowly hardened heart.

Fortune Favours

Hoarded luck,
(not actually luck)
stacks, with interest;
keeps you happy in your place.

Origami

The days fold and crease
like paper in my hand.