Later Works: The Untimely Death of a Narrativist

illuminate this dark birth right of my soul

free me from this bondage of sorrows

pay these debts of which I’ve stole

a look inside my sad tomorrows.

musty gusts of wounded wind

blew poetry without confusion

through me as if I stumbled in

to dig networks of collect diffusion

The death of my father changed that world

and a spinning head from reel to real

deep waters into which we’re hurled

cleansed my thoughts to let me feel

Bright, Knuckle down to any type of work

as thumbed digital dragging meandertall.

The Untimely Death of a Narrativist