“Subtle, almost as though a / little phrenological, slender fingers of / dissonant whispers lift my sea / of hair with a pull / gentle as the moon’s on…”

“Viper crowned with the horns / of love scales my spine and / sheds off walls from which shade / falls usurped by light, talk // fills my throat…”

“Tryst of laughter following after / sadness past the shattering of glass, two steps // before the edge invites its crash, foots / print, toes grasp, smouldering earth…”

“How what nourishes / we let destroy us. / Have we been making / magic or are we / just torched sorcerers // making excuses? / Burnt out from abuse, / too…”

“With fluid steps, trickling / toward the lyric’s edge, / indifferent as lips / to fever’s kiss, how drops / of sweat plod as dew must / against flesh resisting…”