Chapter 1 – Archaic

In the wake of angels

I lie in wait

My leopard pounces

Leaves me motionless

A mere detail of gloriousness

Head heavy with presence

Sounding of trains

Resounds in travel

Poor souls plotting suicide

Challenging death

Tons of metal

Crushing bones

Like wood blocks or

Sand between my toes.

The smell of cinnamon

Invites him in

Power from a bit of glass

To stranded pearls

Passionately wrapped


Back on the tracks

Trains call out to me

I am available

Disregarding serious talk

Or drunk within

My own reflection.

I am learning to fly



I am learning to die

In my sleep

Make my day