Books
Poetry/Lyrics
Essays
Pyramid
We
build webs from limbs
tight grins of suspension
cables to sketch
our tree.
We
form lace plates to
emulate sails of leaves,
our bone chains sent
to sea.
In
wind's tremble we
grit bite to hold against
the rain of clock's
pain spin.
Our
skin creaking, a
leather mast, its frail dust
trying to over
power.
We
are grass, shoot, root,
sinew, in hope, a sad
rope
to
reach to
aspire to
stroke
love.
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