textures are light

in the gap between now and what is not now

goodbye paddy's edge

another imprint on the inner monologue

a foreign looking face

this a party "award" pin... I bought it 10 years ago, I really should wear it someday, ironically?

man on the train

head cast down, liquid maiden whispering too loud in his ears

you see a window

i see the shadows on my soul

flames in the night

sparklers down by the river

waiting in the throng

flickers of flowers painted with fire, here and yet not, a smear on this moment; like moths to a flame, we gather to gaze at passing sparkles, jewels on the jaw of night quickly approaching