the precarious paper pile
builds up
I see the precipice shudder
in uncertainty
my gut lurches
pulled by gravity and
terror
will I drown
in my
mountain
of work?

I am the swamp
viscous and visceral
my mind flooded with clogged thought
slow, I walk
slower, I change
this curled vine ever slow in its
strangulation
the swamp, a table mat of a face
dinner on my bones
breakfast at my fate
I kiss you, swamp-like
the frog's poisoned lips taste potent
and your smile, so green
it reminds me of my own flesh.

je suis venue au bout de ma rue,
et ce n'etait pas ce que je voudrais
n'etait pas ce que je voudrais etre

tous le monde,
ou sont-ils?
sur la rue de la vie
pour tojours

an armistice of the soul
we learn to forgive ourselves
the aches of sins covered by the veil of night
our eyes dilate
- in love with an infinity of stars
possibility opens up
its arms akimbo to our own
opposite the heart is the hard of health
- our breathing stutters in time with discordance
we love the burn
just as much as forgiveness

rocked up on distant shores
agedness personified coos to heavenly heathens
heaving and hulling her breath
we all hold hands in the indefatigable oceanic states
beauty by fire; burn the sea to salt stone sacrifice

Fluctuating sentiment
Settled and stocked
We breathe for security
For the ebb to stifle
For the burning chest to breathe.