in his hands
with the long fingers
dwells the source
of my discontent;

and while I’m transfixed
with the stars above,
plotting to steal secrets
from the ether,

he remains in the foreground
waiting to trade
his three coins
for my shallow eyes.

The Trespasser

forgive me
for trespassing
in the lonely room
behind your eyes.

I am but
a weary stranger—
not unlike yourself

wandering the persistent
and fictitious space
between us.


I feel no remorse
for my infraction

for it was a lovely time,
albeit, a short one.


mining the unconscious
under the gentle gaze
of a crescent moon
how sweet it is
to see your lively eyes

For Jeanne

a red rose discarded
pushed along the storefronts
by a careless winter wind—
all but the childless mother
step aside.

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