Here, again I try counting (on) Minutes minutely, years apart, every-year, every-man. With moist fingertips, the broken rod of balance is...

There lacks continuity, no grit in me but say, the day you looked at me looking away before a winter sun; the only decadence lay in the...

Numbness in your senses, your inability to confide ; they say it's illusion, an angst beneath the tide And drilling into it you suppose...

I had tried to fit in. The meshes of your dualities To choose weeds and ferns or chase the hilly terrain. I have come to know weeds grow...

Without a few letters stand demanding erasure, thoughts in motion may bleed Where the tussle dives far beyond the theoretical to a point...

But language has often been terrible in it's unmaking Of once-written dirges and symphonies against re-visiting talks And I have lived...

It's a farce to know not where poetry begins At the loss of language or with the language of loss, Having crept through every familiar...