The Floor You Walk On Is Smooth.

There Is No Ground There.

Magic Begins With Blood.

Outside, There Are Trees,

With Concrete Under Their Roots.

But I Have Passed The Tombs Of Kings,

Regaled Them With Pacing, Checked Bins For Food

And Wrappings.

I Have Scoured The Seas For Miles,

Cloaked My Face With Ash.

My Fingertips Opening, Accepting My Time.



The Dark Cylinders Of Half-smoked Cigarettes

For Me, I'm Your Sorrow

Calling In Your Dreams

For Me, I'm Your Shadow

Howling In The Streets



Tomorrow, I Will Walk The Streets

And Steel Myself For The Familiar. Your Eyes

Will Not Settle, A Hunger. You'd Be Happier In Your Grave.

When We Meet, Share Stories, You Stretch Me. I See,

I See A Semi-circle Of Teeth.



The Dark Cylinders Of Half-smoked Cigarettes

For Me, I'm Your Sorrow

Calling In Your Dreams

For Me, I'm Your Shadow

Howling In The Streets