Poems: Messages in bottles
Elevens: Forgotten things recollected in elevens—11, 22, 33...
Sacred Trespasses: Contributions to the literary pages at Sacred Trespasses


Around the farther star I sank into my obituary
and sang, but there was no life to hear my song; 
I shouted I bellowed I keened, but no one lived to hear
my limpid witching wake against low mystification,
nor cried nor sighed nor dazzled as tinsels of replication

I returned and fell upon the old city like a mortal malady
I was the barking sickness, 
and the soundings with me were affliction and affinity
I sat and followed folk talk and excitement, ran afoul of good will
With clairvoyance I saw the imminent outbreak of cleverness in them

I went away, I grieved the season I had occupied a creature, 
and again I plunged into the labour of infinite annihilation of being, 
paradise sublime, dismayed, sprawled unto the narrowest place, 
and closer I returned, a swarm, entire