This part of the site is still under construction so here's a poem:
AT THE EDGE OF THE SEA
- The glass has broken
- And the lions roar is breathing in
- On the slate chains
- That suck up the silence ad infinitum
- The mourning stone feebles resistance
- As the pattern goes on
- And on
- The little hand is moving though
- On this pittying clothe
- As the shields of resemblence
- Wavers to all men
- Little by little
- In a different way
- I am here, now
- Crooked feelings are sharpened
- Intensified, And then washed away
- By the attraction
- Of the cups upon cups in the mustard shelf
- Brilliant in their monotony
- Dancing in stillness
- They will change though
- Not the quickest of all the megolithic facets
- That's left to the armour of air swallowing up the cups
- In droves of confident salty rings
- That never really change