You fall
against the same
broken trip.
Shards
of glass-eyed
dreams
can't get you even.
Hard memories sting
still scarred
by violent light.
And what night wind
blows deep inside
your soul?
What dark vibration?
At once a voice
about nothing.
At once a fruited breath
that swells into sweet song
and drowns upon itself.
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 He crept before he walked.
He worked until he cracked.
He wept before he croaked.
(Poems) 
Oh rose thou art sick
The invisible worm that flies at night in the howling storm
Has found out thy bed of crimson joy
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
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