I Pressed Her Thigh And

I Believe In A Long, Prolonged, Derangement Of The Senses In Order To Obtain The Unknown.

Do You Know How Pale & Wanton Thrillful Comes Death On A Strange Hour Unannounced, Unplanned For Like A Scaring Over-friendly Guest You've Brought To Bed Death Makes Angels Of Us All & Gives Us Wings Where We Had Shoulders Smooth As Raven's Claws

If My Poetry Aims To Achieve Anything, It's To Deliver People From The Limited Ways In Which They See And Feel.

Resident Mockery, Give Us An Hour For Magic.

Rather Than Starting Inside, I Start Outside And Reach The Mental Through The Physical.