“I am the fading son of / eleven centuries of / sacred geometry, attentive / and expressionless as a sentry, / boxed in by misery and / misunderstanding under- // estimating…”

“Sparks of compliments fly from your tongue / like songs thrown from a silversmith’s blunt / hammer, puns hitting my ear, thunder / to drum, as your dulcimer…”

“Written with thorns pulled from the dark / side of passion, an epistle / and a treatise concerning things / incomprehensible, in two / parts entitled, On Fasting by…”

“Love it is that two souls, / when seeking their own reflection, / greet before noon sundown’s / shadow thrown long, wading in its / wintered mouth as both…”

“Constrained by their isolation, / the fire-keeping generation, / seeking release from their fathers’ / prisons, read to me their ignored / petitions, as if sensing my / ability, such…”

“Your weakest efforts at raising my spirits / have got me really Ouija-bored, afflicted / by Venus, ’feels like Scorpio’s eating us / ’cause you thieved a glance…”

“Scorched with scorn, don’t mourn me when I’m gone, / when I’ve outgrown your porcelain world, / cracking through its whining cunt smiling, / fist-pumping and defiant, punching…”

“Who will love me when I’m not entertaining / or brilliant? When my talent’s fading and / isn’t taken like my third act’s last breath by / a…”

“A contrabanned heart black-marketed / like a blood-dried diamond, / this Sisyphean boulder / incapable of being moved, pried / open, or valued until / broken, a contrarian / caricature self-assured…”

“Scalded by your mess, digging its relentless / depth of spilled secrets you let hit surface, drops / of clues enough to whet my interest, each / bent…”