



A poem of broken terms and a stone held in superposition, where sin is a missed mark, a synapse firing, and a bolt of chemical lightning.

or Ruptures & Dithers So much depends on a rupture.The Rapture erupts as old bonds corruptReleasing, decreasing the nothingAnd no thing can existOr insist itself upon what consistsWith blissFully underWear and tear exposedA flare across what once was bareExtending the Kosmos by a thin hair. Nothing changes without cataclysmOn some level.Summed levels unravel, suggesting past…

Strength: Take all ten swords and make a pincushion. / We’ve a new reality of warping woofing weaving.

Deeper in the gutter go / Find the darkest place you know

A circular portrait of morning mourning the end of solitude & home.

Zeke, take the wheel! Keep it turning while I turn in.

Mi mater like water / Flown down to a well / Deeper than Hell

And today, without my mother, we are adrift. Twins out at sea, using the oars that life gave us to paddle to a shore that flickers in and out of sight.

I feel like the 9 of Wands, like I’m standing guard with nothing but my heart and passion to wield.

I learned to love an open G chord In the round and before I knew the sound could be more Than my thoughts could restore
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