Grind
The last stones are
under pressure.
Diamonds are dust.
Rows of bad things
lights
around my neck.
Something I’m writing for
digital pricing,
The secret between my sin and the spirit.
Salt Lake
Stream

Little Stream

Moon World

Wild

Love as War. War as Love.
I adore
The musk of a delicious person’s weakness.
I walk like a ship in the ocean.
I have
a knife to eat,
seaside.
Destruction has not ended completely.
I stay open as an unread book.
My satisfaction
is kept on his skin,
The breakdown in his language,
The rhythmic dance of his need.
Path












