People in my dreams
Tire
Headache
One must cover one’s tracks
So what I did was
So what I did was swap out death for life.
I poked through and (for life was not all)
down in around and out again,
stitching a garment for every weather.
Aspire
Linger
A poem that should never have been written, and yet it was
I rifled through the drawers of death.
I took back all my letters.
Death she never wrote me back.
She let me hang here ever.
Burning but not consumed
Utrecht Journal 