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We meet on streets to prolong the catwalk, to lengthen arrival so it aligns more
commensurately with its anticipation. A street of three blocks or more with enough
pedestrians to heighten awareness and to raise a few false hopes at a glimpse of a
similar coat or swing of hair. Now that you're here, turn at the next corner. Go back
to approach me again.
From 10th Muse 13 (2004)
I would like to fly away from here, be cured of this pointless disease,
burn under another light, a clear, scorching dawn.
You're right, I must be careful, at those heights I risk my soul.
But the poison of chance fills my veins, the earth crushes me.
Astride this rapture I'll smash every desperation.
I'll embrace the air, rise to safety, towards distant borders.
You'll find me down there, alone, sated by time, by every fancy,
finally ready, lost, tossed in the throat of the waves.
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