The corner of the white-walled room is hung with stair-like stars. The inches squared where cobwebs dwell is where the cosmos are. The cosmos of the my white-walled mind are brimming with the light of forces, of creation-- imagining the night. The white-walled cosmos of the night my psyche bends
The war I wage with words is endless, beautiful and cursed. The ink, the letter, syllables--they express but they confine. Nevertheless I break the rules; nevertheless I am restrained. What then will be wrought? Will it be beauty, or remain Nothing more than words? postscript For day 2 of This
My head splits open, crammed full as it is With heaven I have squished in confined space. I am all logic, understanding this: That finite worlds are mine now to embrace. But come the muses, here to give me earth; To rescue me from living dissonance, And in the great
I love As rain Drops Race Lucid and full From heights and depths. And neither angels nor demons Have power Over love Like mine. Deep calls when words couldn't. And heart and breath Respond Reverb In rain Soft and free As ocean tides. Love hides In garden sheds
Blackest ink, the color of my love, Has carved the snowy footsteps in the night; Compelled to venture where the land grows rough And wrapped in breathlessness like candlelight, Composing notes you may find good enough. Be carved in snowy footsteps of the night And melting snow. With ink as