Plenty

The cups you fill for pleasure
Drain the heavens in one dry heave
Until the pale granite sky
Shines its broken stars back
Down the parsec-riddled dark
To another useless midnight.

An the Tree is Broken

‘Is chiel is tired.
There’s little watter
An the tree is broken.

always on the streets

always on the streets
rain

always we are told
there was sin
what we did
what we did not
just being born on this
the wrong side of wrath