within the scaffold i cobble what i can to bear the weight.

i remember young in a classroom learning to edit the voice that shouts out with the answer. now, a master at crossing myself out,...

thin skin brews the first crush ectopic love with no home, swelling in secret.

late in the year, a butterflies wings open and shut, a sweep that caresses the centre without suffocation.

trace from the last boom, portent of the next bust, where do we go from here?.

across ages the orange burn, fire in the stone, fire in the wood power caught within kindles me to life.

in a another skylight, consolation. shelter to decipher constellations turning.

tower, channel longing higher, survey how desire turns the lock.

how much has interior vision changed since your eyes downcast were set in stone? our revolutions of life remain unfathomable.

remaindered behind the gas pipe, no longer harbingers of mystery, but letters lost to purgatory.

gone the torn shreds of yesterday, the wind that ploughed the river to foam and ghosted heads into undoing.

twist the damp stair through the dark well, those shut doors and worn treads are not going to give up their secrets.

there are another paths in parallel, slowing slips fate, surrenders the destination.

rest your forehead against science fiction, press the switch that reads elsewhere.

it was only a brief template, the stones barely registered the intrusion. hopefully there is no afterlife.

the river runs mist and wind, beyond the rise the sun lives on. shallow water gives the sky a mirror to compare how things are lost.

take it back down to the level, loose the wayward straggle of the year, hope the heart doesn't fail.

the fight is rigged, a push to build, a pull to strip, trust curdles in the stand-off.

it is the hate that smothers, stuck under skin like lead. strip it out to wave slender in the wind.

power beyond me, inside a pull to become one with this redeemer, but eyes avert destined to blindness.