Te guila / through fire water from a mother’s womb was born / beneath mountains forged through halestorm and fire rain succumbed / her power unshaded by centuries of smouldering dead / Te guila / my love / this abyss with no end awaits / I desend without farewells / I trust you to greet me / in Hell

the cross

On my back; a cross,

a filter pertinent to a

world unbearable

.

I explot thus; shading

them by shielding me,

never though; however vast

the cross will be a burden

.

Of ‘Celia Upon Her Sparrow’ I wrote // thoughts made up through staring at books // for too long; too small a font // I never could lament // no well to draw upon // I pretend I have // a future down a path // less trodden; less bare // I think I might // be wrong indeed

procrastination ;;; an icy wall I attempt to climb ;;; impatience ;;; the slippery slope on the other side ;;; hyperbolic discounting ;;; I gnaw on the bones – smiling