You have come to be closeted in the wind & so I ask you to take my hand, touch The gravel traces that run Thru the weeds on the sidereal clip. They dangle from the projector, The projectionist too tired For the catapult, Too tired, For the sad tales we cough up Into his arms.…

There are to many writers and not enough words. That’s why were all left repeating ourselves. There is to much hatred and not enough love. That’s why were constantly killing ourselves. I’ve seen the lost widow cry and soldier regret. Young children battered from years of neglect. The man with the beard and the long…

I will become inappropriate for city life fly a trapeze in the jungle maybe do some mechanical work on rocket ships for extra cash I will become a hobbyist for underwater paraphernalia I will become the kind of old person who always buys the same kind of shoes when my soles have worn thin or…