Later Works: The Untimely Death of a Narrativist
Thirty without poetry for sail
to an island for a soul’s embrace
the waking crystal water trail
leaves no worldly footprints trace
left behind a shed of dreams
sliced up sharks bought for souled
Cold tornaparts at any seems
in paged pursuit of coins and gold.
Poetry takes us up the Pendulum
saving me from my ambitions course
make this bright pen dull them
but ignites in me this splendid force.
others’ journeys are not for me
upon my own ungovernable see.