Sulking in a Briefcase
many reasons, many reasons
disregard the heap of it all
feet embedded in concrete
that weighs a mere pound

This Cage Must Be The Place (Excerpt)
If I could breathe,
my fingertips could touch
and they would feel
all that I touch,
and I would breathe everything,
I touched.
But I'm contained, with
watermarked vision
with an aural equalization,
not yet mastered
and a bitterness toward all that lies.
I understand the ground
yet it continues to push me forcefully.
I see it from a distance
but I can't get close enough
because eventually it turns,
back into a blur.
A circular definition, without
The tailbone to understand how it treats me.
I'll still love you, ground.
After all I would be falling without you,
falling, falling,
until I cannot feel the fall.
And if I were to get close to that air,
the particles would hurt more,
yet touch less, and scatter.
No touch for the fingertips,
no pixilated perception,
and a vacuous sound… the scent of my own breath.