What if love is a yellow gel pen?

Bright, beautiful, illegible?

And if you have left your vision in someone else’s well,

what then?


Love Poem

My ideas are drunk in the corner.

I lack spirit.

I have spirits.

Paris write me telling me to come

when love is nothing.

I will be held in my city,

and I will wait

between the lovers wrapped in their coats like gifts.


Third Eye Witnesses

Third Eye Witnesses


She harvests roses,



The world watches her sleep.

Birds peer through her window

like so many anxious dignitaries in a

court of intrigue.


She wears the scent of sun

in a vial around her neck.

He will hunt her better nature.

color his prayers with her name.


This is yearning –

to be jealous of the air

because it can touch her everywhere at once.


In his suit of wool and guilt

he watches her pick bouquets of breeze,

spinning in a plain of demolished satisfaction.


At night, he whittles mathematics down

to an immaculate paste of 2

and rubs it over his body

Tomorrow he will wait by the light

and draw her in with his want song.