The tree, which I'll call Her is reaching the end of Her natural life. Limbs that once were spread apart, have thickened so much, that a hand has barely enough room to pass between and touch the spot, where in a tangled bush the sweetest fruit is...

Dear psychosis, Lowly your voice howls Within the wintry confines of my mind. Now is the winter Of my discontent. I feel your veil over my eyes thickening. What is reality? I reach for it, But with broken hands,...

It does not begin, it does not end. Never hear it start, never hear it stop. Ceaseless, present at every moment. This inner sound - an object of sense. With willpower we dominate, breathing at our will. Where we...