A love letter written to myself.
Children, drunken in the last rays of sun, squeeze every last drop from these hours, as spectres of the world are swallowed, and they, clinging to this day, deny the night. To bed! To bed! They will not go. We who know, at some point, the child must sleep, lay ourselves down willingly, and surrender […]
Morefor when i am quite, quite nothing, then it is everything. When i am trodden quite out, quite, quite out, every vestige gone, then i am here risen, and setting my foot on another world risen, accomplishing a resurrection risen, not born again, but risen, body the same as before, new beyond knowledge of newness, […]
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To Whom It May Concern 