On this March night, there'sa beautiful Van Gogh skyhovering outside mybedroom window.Above my maple deskwhere I write this isa Van Gogh self-portrait.The jagged edges andswirls in sea-greenpain moves me.I wait for the coffee to brew.Earthy, dark notes fill the...

The dust and clutter havegathered in my home, andin my life.Next month it's April.Time to spring clean.Let's see...Throw out all thedangerous philosophiesthat whispers to mewhile I sleep.Get rid of the people wholaugh while they lie.All the soulkillers andsuckerfish; the...

Psychosis carried in the gales,for I am surely windblown,windward from my own psyche,where boundaries of reality have eroded.With concealed hands,a nonvisual hallucination caressesthe encasement of my soul,provoking verbal responses.Nothingness which wreathes around me,a curve in a state of nonexistencemeandering...

May Ihold you fold youmould your bodyinto mine.Will you hold me fold me mould me into the curvesof your bodyand drink me inlike some fine wine.Can we stillholdfold mouldblend into each otherand become the two colouredartwork we were always meant to be.Come to me tonight...