Show me to my sick sweet dark cave. The cave where dreams stab at the clumsy waking mind. Where the wounded and forgetful sleep crow is welcome and not mauled, by the growling brown beast of perceived consciousness. In the day I walk- Strut- confident in the ground beneath my feet. Falsely sure of the surrounding wood, predictable and ancient. When I hunger- For nourishment, ple...

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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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