“Empty all your fountains into my well, / ink will tell what fantasies my hand no / longer trembles to express, no matter / how uncomfortable my comfort…”

“The crucifix is just a reduction / sigil designed by him to assist god / in manifesting his wish for us all / to cross him the wrong…”

“Livid creatures helicopter in / to lift ceilings, hovering just long / enough to peer in, lifting spirits / averse to song, singing ferocious // hymns filling ears with…”

“Wounded centaur, how your gestures / are a language of hands only / my heart comprehends. Now that I / have lost my way, now that no man…”

“A god who disappears every / two thousand years wearing the fevered / veil of a fading life, posing like / he’s crucified, obfuscating light // meters into verse…”