Cornered,
in the dark of ever-rumbling mind
by the brain itself.
Wanted,
in the rapture of a different kind -
pictured in a cell.
Why so,
what builds a basin for a lady
for a boy would dig a suicide well?

Strolling
cross the lanes not flooded
with the folk, but with a rain:
Leaning
as perpetually the salty drops would be
an artist - cheap, exciting, vain.