somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence. in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you always open petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose nothing that we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

So, ungentle reader, (as you and I value what we should ashamed-after witnessing a few minor circus-marvels-to call our 'lives,') let us never be fooled into t…

My theory of technique, if I have one, is very far from original; nor is it complicated. I can express it in fifteen words, by quoting The Eternal Question And…

it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful

You took off your clothes and left on the light, You stood there so brave, you used to be shy, Each feature improved, each movement refined, And eyes like a sh…

Before you, my life was like a moonless night. Very dark, but there were stars, points of light and reason. And then you shot across the sky, like a meteor. Su…

On the ice flow they grip, cut, twist, break open seeds throwing out the white salt, revive volcanic dreams: unable to satisfy their diminuated lust the allego…