A Collection of Poems
I split the sky with poorly calibrating eyes.
Alone in contempt of my owned heart,
and the subtle clouds that trail behind.
Jetting me toward a world of desire,
unworthy of machines and cogent premises.
I rest discreet upon a vacuum of intuition
and fertile flowers.
There I'll sing and spit light upon a carpeted floor.
To dull the noise and perceive relevance in a handshake.