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.

The Untimely Death of a Narrativist