Poem

A Poem the secrets to god-life must be held in the soil of California, I say once I see the trunks as big as my new york apartment I’ll be complete. ready to stop moving.I reread The Overstory devoutly, like an acolyte, and I think of the love that is wasted, handed to us by…

A poem Those day were sun bleachedand nights were blowing smoke into empty air,there was always sand everywhere.You were my best friend, and I needed youand you needed me. I was always there. I am still there.You were my softest spot, a bruise you would press;I drove us home once when you were too drunk…

What does it mean? It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing either, it is unknowable. – René Magritte when the shroud was thin and glorious,like the sheen of a cloudand I could almost feel it, the skin of your fingersyour gravity, a promise that one day, you could know me, as more than…