True North plummets into my Southpaw
and I swing and miss the gum locked teeth of my Grendel
I waste a day, heaving toward my monster
to gain a moment.
The numb rest...
plucking strategies from a tablet
of fisticuffs and Dragons
of my own resort...
soaring over Hells
as I succumb to the likes
Of You.

Born where the Echoes Stop...
I start a new song
where deaf birds
recite my longing
always.

and as blind
I have the
View