If a leopard can’t shed its spots
  why should I?

born in the wild — no tame, just claws.
if i wanted to feel something
 maybe i should do it;
that way the wind’s gusts this time
  will wrap itself around me instead.

constant foreboding —
 the lust i have for pity is insatiable.
stroke me there,
 my ego can take it;
i am not just the fiction
  in your fable.

worked to nil,
 rou...

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amidst this company of billowed ghosts

the echo bed of swollen heads belies

a gory hail of  rain chined inspiration

for my chiselled host and

hides cathedral vaulted cuts

of the deepest time

where darkness sparks

in resonant rhyme

and breath affords a gaudy boast

yet dies upon the budding lime

belly crawled while underneath

the aven’s insolent draught

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