“Gathering horizons at the precipice, the copper bend / in the taut trip-wire of the cliff’s edge / acknowledges one’s end, lifts a heel of broken / earth…”

“Reaffirmation of my multitudes, // Whitmanesque in my delusion’s choice of companionship, / any bad decision of mine is missing / no chance, wasting no opportunity, to bed…”

“A nagging thought teetering on / the edge of anonymity / and identity, you drag your / destiny behind you the way / a kite’s strings follow it, the…”

“I dreamt of a graveyard / being forested over with / saplings growing more underground / than above the crowd of // tombstones the tempestuous breath / of silence knocked…”

“‘Neither opened nor closed, / can’t be figured out or pinned down, / I’m not an equation or a specimen, / I’m a book you can only read…”