Poetry is painting with words. Painting is poetry without them. Lust is poetry with bodies. Poetry is lust without them. I wonder if someone else has thought of this.

climbing the notes to youmemories rush in and I weepgentle understanding in a lookI am nothing without yousacred need I have faithoccult visions disturb my reveriemy imagination warps and turns darkmy heart misses youmy thoughts find you ofteninside the...

You have been lost for days in the big blueSearching for dry land only to be pulled deep outThe salt of the ocean mingles with salted tearsWhere is the beacon to show you home   You begin to swim towards the...

In twilight's breath, dark swallowing lightCloaked in shadows of dry gin and vermouthEchoes growing louder in council of secretsNo longer muffled whispers of raven flightBut Polly wants a cracker perched on a wooden throneYet feast on the bonesPolly has...