There came once a man who challenged a tall mountain. Near the top, his soles became sore; he applied an ointment. He then slipped, and spilled, and tumbled his way to the bottom— his grand achievement became his grand disappointment. But, looking u...

This failure—a prayer left unanswered, or some sort of self-imposed crucifixion; you, gazer, neither a judge nor a savior, are an instrument to a small destruction.

It seems the only people who read it are the people who write it. And the people who write it don't buy it, they're trying to sell it. Poetry is like a theater, a theater with a long, stalled line to enter— but the line is at the back door, no one i...

I reside in obscurity. If I died, then bury me.