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I swim in empty shards of glassand break myself into piecesto not feel aloneI don’t rememberif love was theanswer, or the whetstone.I don’t rememberwhen visions ofmy future weren’tladen withghostsThe corner of anythingis a gathering placeI’ll see you thereat the endof the road. Written in a notebook, a few years ago.

My eyessee so wellthe horses hoovesand the green oceanits moving waterand the closer I lookthe more I seewaves inframes of threemomentsper secondslowing down time. It’s clearnowthese eyesand theseearscapture anglesonlyglimpses ofwhat is hereso vastand so fineI am gladtotaste itat all. Written a few years ago in a notebook.

I retreat to my room. There is a man there, standing with himself in the same way he always does, with his arms tied around his ankles, wrapped around his legs, incestuous vines of self protection. The mirror is on the closet door, and I open it then to clear away the image, grab what…