The tear expands just before
it falls.
The cello tells my story better
than my words.
Sisyphus has great calf muscles
by now.
My tear is merely the same as the
sweat on his face.
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No More Masters
The bones are really breaking inside of me and I have no one left to conceive of no imagination to dry up no silence to feign I have no fore...
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...