how i love
the feel of rain
through the immature
forest of stubble
growing wildly
along the contours
of my face
for it reminds me
to take time
to breathe
and think about
what really matters


A Love Story

a bouquet of dead dreams
lies wake
in a sarcophagus made
from a hollowed out heart

worms crawl about
carving their time
on the empty walls
of a skull tomb

and the bony, frail hands
tremble past the tattooed face
to strangle the cuckoo

but time yields
to nothing
and no one

this too
shall morph
into ash and cinder
while its essence
into the ether

On Dying – Autumn’s Acquiescence to Winter

smothered lungs
decay of dead leaf corpses
autumn Earth
succumbing to change
fading colours
naked limbs
branching towards tomorrow
where evolution
of frost will continue
to sever the
remaining ties
between this season
and whatever is next

Correcting Astigmatism

my sedentary eyes –
no longer looking
towards light from
a star, long ago dead –
stumble through
the abysmal darkness,
feeling-out love’s
quiet whispers
along continental walls;
explore hieroglyphs
hidden on skin,
in a chamber beneath the
pyramid of entombed dreams;
and finally focus
on you