Poems from desdim
Like little red running shoes
Dripping with guilty deeds,
Washed cean though water-sogged
Deep within the reeds.
I am a prisoner of my own device, and I am better for it.
Captive by my own self, there's no way out, and yet no need for help. A cell...
Aeschlepus is not bread,
It is not water
It is the yearning to go farther
It is not rock or stream
Nor timber
It is not a life that dares...
Thou once swam with me within the same sea,
Until beach did thyself forsake of love.
Though I did not, now I cannot seek thee,
Bereaved am...
Bury me not as a man; bury me as a body,
and let the man live on.