1649.

Mirrors are broken
and turned back for the maiming.
Suicide by love.

1648.

Our hearts' roots are all
twisted and gnarled together
in a tied hanging.

1647.

A storm that sweeps out
everything but the mess
hiding underneath.

1646.

The idea of so
much oblivion lost to
its reality.

1645.

Hollow honors built
for the merry making of
fools and their splendor.

1644.

Loneliness is more
a need for anchors and psalms
than riding passion.

1643.

Cover me in your
hunger so that I may be
completely consumed.